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Doctor Will 


THE 

BOY FROM DOWN STAIRS. 


BY 

y 

JENNIE HARRISON, 

AUTHOR OF “ UP STAIRS,” AND “ FROM FOUR TO FOURTEEN.” 




“ I have written to you, young men, because 
ye are strong.’* ^ " 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK. 


I^^o) 


.1 



COPYRIGHT, t88o, 

BY AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY. 




INTRODUCTORY. 


I HOPE that those young friends of mine who 
have read '‘Up Stairs,” will not require an introduc- 
tion to “ Doctor Will ” and his boyhood’s companions. 

Those who have not, will only need to understand 
that the “doctor” of this book was the little boy 
“ Will ” of the other, who used to find it one of his 
chief childish pleasures to go up stairs and sit with 
Montgomery Meade, the invalid lad whose death was 
the first great sorrow of Will’s life. 

Mr. Watkins had been unfortunate, and was obliged 
to move with his family into the downstairs part of 
the same house; which was a cause of much grief to 
Maggie, his daughter, in her schoolgirl pride. 

Around the invalid chair of “Monty” — as his 
companions called him — gathered all the boys and 
girls who afterwards became the men and women, the 
helpers and associates of Doctor Will: bonny Jeannie, 
with her snatches of Scotch songs, and her timid v/ays, 
scarcely different from the young woman you will now 
read of; cheery Lizzie Meade, who smiled and sang 


4 


INTR OD UCTOR Y. 


through all her busy days; Laura Gray and Maggie 
Watkins, with their schoolgirl efforts and trials and 
failures; Frank and Tom, with their teasing boy-ways — 
all united in their love for Monty, in their desire to 
plan little surprises to brighten his sad life, and in 
their enjoyment of the evenings spent together in the 
up-stairs room where he sat. 

Doctor Chester — he is “ old Doctor Chester now — 
who attended Monty, first helped the boy Will to 
realize how God can be loving and just, while yet He 
takes our dear ones from us, and then taught him how 
noble a work is that of a faithful physician. 

How well the boy learned his lesson, you will find 
out as you go — where sunshine and shade mingle, and 
strange things hard to understand puzzle the heart — 
along some of the ways of early manhood, with Doctor 
Will. 


JENNIE HARRISON 


DOCTOR WILL. 


I. 

There was a little group of boys standing 
together. You would have called them “young 
men,” perhaps ; I call them “ boys,” because I like 
the word ; they called themselves “ fellows.” 

They seemed to feel very merry. There was a 
tossing of caps in the air ; a ripple of laughter in 
among the talk, and finally, an actual leap-frog, 
performed by the last one who joined the group. 

The grave Professor, who was going out at the 
other gate, looked surprised, but said nothing. His 
boys had just passed a good examination, and he 
felt indulgent toward them. 

“ Besides,” added the good old man to himself, 
adjusting his spectacles and looking back at the 
bright faces, “ Let them be boys as long as they 
can. Ah, what it is to be a boy !” 

Down through the years his memory went wan- 


6 


DOCTOR WILL. 


dering, as he walked away : down through the long 
years which had come and gone since he was a 
boy, since he had stood just as they were standing 
to-day, with the glow and the glory of great, possi- 
ble things lighting up the future, as far as eye 
could see. He smiled as he remembered, with 
just a little sadness perhaps, but with no regret 
that they had vanished, and no remorse. 

Ah ! what it is to be a boy ! What it is to 
stand just on the glad green hillside, looking up 
through the winding paths, dimly seen, and through 
the strong, tuneful air, up to the far, busy highway; 
to feel the sunlight on your forehead, and the might 
in your heart; to say, can — / willl' without 

thought of failure or doubt! There need be no 
doubt and no failure. You are God’s workers: 
sent forth to fulfil his grand purposes. All things 
are yours. Only *‘be strong and of a good cour- 
age,” “ strong in the Lord and in the power of his 
might.” 

And, boys, just here, on the bright hillside, 
where the path is green, and where the birds sing 
so gayly, kneel down and pray that prayer which 
the great king of old prayed before he began his 
lifework : Give me 7tow wisdom and knoivledgel 

“ What ails Professor Klein } I caught the 


'doctor will, 7 

glitter of a new idea through his glasses, as he 
looked back.” 

“ Let the Professor alone for the grandest old 
specimen that ever came from the land of fossils. 
Do you know we are all going out among the 
mountains with him, to help enliven part of his 
vacation 

^^Wef Who?” 

‘‘Well, a few select spirits. Fred Ames here, 
and Ray Phelds, and Charlie Warner, and the girls, 
and myself.” 

“What girls.?” 

“ Oh, Laura Gray, and Maud Fields, and my 
sisters ; and possibly the bonny Lady Jean.” 

“Do you know that Dr. Chester and Will talk 
of coming too .?” 

“ No ! that will be sublime !” 

“ Everett, will you be quiet, and let me ask how 
this queer programme came about ?” 

“ Certainly. The Professor and I were talking 
together the other day, and he told me that, in 
vacation, he should ‘go up among the big hills, 
where you get such great breath, and feel so high.’ 
I didn’t smile, as a simple-minded fellow like your- 
self, Sam, would have done ; but I said, ‘ How I 
should like to go too !’ Whereat he shut his musty 


8 


DOCTOR WILD 


old book, and said, *How? You like to go?’ I 
suggested that a little party of us would like to go 
under his care, etc. ‘But,’ he said, ‘I go to no 
grand place, no great hotel, you see. You young 
folks like the big parlors, and the dance, and the 
fashion.’ I then proceeded to show him how utter- 
ly we ignored these pomps and vanities. In short, 
I so worked upon his feelings, that he consulted 
with the ‘good wife,’ and they finally agreed to 
take charge of our party. If Chester and Doctor 
Will go too, possibly their friend Lizzie Meade 
may be of the party, and Will’s sister, Mrs. Tor- 
rance. That will be a good thing for the Pro- 
fessor’s lady : for I know she ’ll be scared at the 
sight of such juvenile people as we are. She isn’t 
as used to us as the Professor is. He takes us like 
a daily dose of pills.” 

“ Lawrence, does your breath ever give out ?” 

“ Rarely, Sam. But I ’m afraid it will to-mor- 
row, in the midst of that Latin harangue. If they 
would only let a fellow talk in good, plain Eng- 
lish.” 

“ I do n’t think you are much hindered in that 
way.” And they all smiled, as the best Latin scholar 
in the class kept silence from his “ good English ” 
for a moment. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


9 


‘'You’re only afraid that the pretty sisters wont 
understand you, that ’s all.” 

" Pshaw ! Lizzie Meade can read Latin as fast 
as I can ; and as for the bonny Lady Jean — well, 
I ’m not sure but she is engaged at present on a 
translation of the Odes of Horace. And I care 
far more for these, than for your little sisters, who 
are just thinking of the pretty, white graduation 
dresses.” 

“ I give it up.” 

They often had to do that with Lawrence Ever- 
ett. They used to say they "couldn’t match him 
no one could talk so much or so well ; no one 
could get through as much troublesome study with 
as little vexation ; no one could be so completely 
"jolly” in the hours of rest; and no one looked 
forward to the great future with such ready hope 
as he. He had been a great favorite all through 
his college course, both with professors and fellow- 
students, and he had great sympathy from them 
all, as now he stood, so full of gayety and assu- 
rance, on the threshold of manhood. 

" Here comes the valedictorian. Arthur, friend 
of my boyhood, vale — vale D 

" Everett, I do n’t see how you can be so ridic- 
ulously mirthful, just now.” 


4 


lO 


DOCTOR WILL. 


The grave-faced student paused, as the weight 
of Lawrence Everett’s palm fell upon his shoulder. 

I must say, it seems rather sad to me — this 
breaking up and separating ; and especially as we 
do n’t know what there is in store for us.” 

Did we ever know that ? from the days when 
we used to receive severe castigations for breaking 
window-panes with our ball, up to the time when 
there began to dawn upon our minds the horrors 
of Greek accents Don’t be sad, boy. To be 
sure, you are going to put the ocean between us ; 
but ‘ we ’ll all mee tagain in the morning.’ I sha’ n’t 
grieve, if you only do n’t come home calling your- 
self an Italian count, or something of that sort.” 

“Don’t you think that Everett ought to go 
home and study upon his oration suggested some 
one else, moving off. 

“ Yes ; and I must look over mine too.” 

“ Do n’t give us anything gloomy, Arthur. Say 
your vale with a smile.” 

“All right; I’ll try to.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


II 


II. 

The light of a beautiful June day shone in 
through the windows of the grand old sombre- 
looking building. 

It came, taking all hues from the stained glass : 
crimson and blue and gold and royal purple ; and 
yet, in each one it was just sunlight still ; God’s 
pure, sweet, simple sunlight, that is about our 
paths and in our lives every day, so familiar that 
we almost forget about it, until some time when it 
shines through a certain window, and becomes gold 
or purple ; and then we look at the window. 

Simple sunlight is so common a thing. It is 
like God’s love. I wonder if you ever thought of it, 
the great, boundless flood of love which shines 
over all lives. We walk in it, we sing in it, we 
breathe and smile and grow in it ; and yet, how 
little we think of it by its one name — Love. It 
comes in at the windows of our hearts, shining 
through the many-hued panes that a generous God 
has framed there, to make our lives beautiful. We 
receive it, and say in our uncomprehending words, 
crimson,” “gold,” “blue;” we call it friendship. 


12 


DOCTOR WILL. 


hope, health, prosperity; but how seldom do we 
look out above, and say, “ It is God’s great love.” 

Sometimes it reaches us through the darken- 
hued panes ; and then we shrink, and call it sorrow, 
loss, disappointment ; but ah ! it is God’s love 
still; the one great sunlight of love, that touches 
our lives in every part. Yet we go on, day by day, 
not comprehending what a glory surrounds us at 
every step. 

What is this Am I writing a sermon ? All 
this is what the old German professor was saying 
to himself that morning, as he sat there while the 
audience was gathering. Some of the gay young 
girls might have smiled at the queer picture he 
made, sitting with his head thrown back, and the 
purple light falling upon his straggling gray hair ; 
his glasses a little crooked, and his honest, homely 
face glowing with a quiet content. 

Girls look so at the outside sometimes, not half 
guessing what beauties are covered up from their > 
sight. There were a great many young girls there 
that morning. Brothers and cousins and friends 
were to graduate; and rosy lips and smiling girl- 
faces and proudly-beating hearts were there to 
honor them. 

There was a wavy motion of fans, a soft flutter- 


DOCTOR WILL, 


13 


ing of dainty summer costumes, and a delicious per- 
fume of mysterious bouquets. There was a great 
chattering in low, soft tones, and an important hur- 
rying to and fro of students, a sound of the tuning 
of instruments as the band prepared to begin, and 
a look of expectation on all faces. In the midst of 
it all sat the undisturbed Professor thinking his 
grave thoughts. 

“Behind the scenes” there were curious per- 
formances going on. The boys — who were taking 
their leave of boyhood that day — seemed overflow- 
ing with mirth and good spirits. As each one went 
out to perform his part, and came back with ap- 
plause sounding after him, the merriment increased, 
until the poor valedictorian, who had the last word to 
say, was in despair at the tumult around him. 

“ Lawrence, old fellow, how you did jabber that 
Latin ! It was all I could do to keep track of 
you.” 

“ Serves you right, then, for pushing on ahead 
of me. Look here ! see this youngster who calls 
himself Doctor Will. Would you say that he was 
out of compound fractions yet T 

Lawrence Everett took by the shoulders a tall, 
slender young man who had come among them to 
talk and congratulate. 


14 


DOCTOR WILL, 


I do n’t call myself ‘ Doctor Will the title 
originated with you. And if it is compound frac- 
tures you ’re asking about, why, I ’m all right in 
that line.” 

“ Hear him now. Arthur, you and I know that 
he isn’t a day older than we are. But see how 
much longer it has taken us to pull up the hill of 
learning. There ’s something wrong about it.” 

“ Oh, I had a sudden impetus, and could n’t 
stop. I believe it was all some mysterious potion 
of Dr. Chester’s. You and Arthur took things 
more calmly — slow and sure. It is better, at least 
in Arthur’s case. I wish I were half as well-read.” 

Arthur received the compliment with a quiet 
smile, looking up from his manuscript to the boy- 
ish face of his friend. I could n’t hurry. I did 
not want to, I enjoyed it so much. I would like to 
begin it right over again.” 

“ What ! a college course ! Out upon you for an 
ungrateful bookworm, who is too much absorbed 
to crawl out and see the sunshine and life of the 
world.” 

Arthur shrugged his shoulders and walked up 
and down studying his address. 

Arthur was born with a silver spoon in his 
mouth, but he does n’t at all appreciate it. It was 


DOCTOR WILL. 


15 

a mistake. It should have fallen to my lot. Some 
men have fortunes thrust upon them.” 

“ Everett, be quiet, will you ? There is Ray 
Fields at his German.” 

Some of them went forward to listen. 

I can see Ray’s pretty sister blinking her eyes 
and trying to look as if she understood ; and I can 
imagine Professor Klein with one huge smile all 
over his face.” 

“Plush !” 

“And Madame, too,” went on the irrepressible 
young man ; “ she has her little yellow-gloved hands 
all ready to clap. How Ray does roll it out ! Shade 
of Goethe ! Oh say, doctor — what ’s the matter V 

“I am afraid you will disturb the audience. 
What is it 

“ Why, I want to know if you are going up to 
the mountains with us next week } Was n’t it sub- 
lime of me to suggest it to the venerable Professor T 

“ Very. I ’m not sure but he will repent of his 
bargain. Dr. Chester wants me to go, and he needs 
the rest ; but I do n’t know that \ can spare the 
time.” 

“There’s economy in it. Will. And besides, 
we’ll manage to find you some work. Girls are 
always having something the matter ; they will 


i6 


DOCTOR WILL. 


hurt their pretty feet with croquet mallets, or twist 
their ankles climbing the rocks, or put their collar- 
bones out of joint looking for sunrises, or — ach ! 
mein bnider ! you vill come back vid such tousand 
honors !” 

He turned towards young Fields, who came 
back from the platform with glowing cheeks and a 
satisfied air. 

Come, it ’s Arthur’s turn next ; we ’re going in 
to hear his valel 

The boys went in, and Doctor Will returned to 
his place among an interested little group of listen- 
ers. Arthur’s valedictory was a poem, well-deliv- 
ered and very pleasant to listen to, but full of vague 
aspirations, dreamy longing.s, and high-sounding 
words that soared up into the clouds, and somehow 
were lost there. There was nothing definite in his 
looking or pointing forward, nothing which his 
classmates could take hold of, although he urged 
them with eloquent words. He talked of great 
things far off in the future waiting to be done ; he 
saw dimly wonderful visions of things that might 
be. That was all very well. But the only way to 
get at that grand possible future is to 

“ Act, act in the living present, 

Heart within, and God o’erhead.” 


DOCTOR WILL, 


17 

And that was what Arthur Sands failed to under- 
stand. Why, to climb, one must go step by step. 
Look up and on as much as you please, boys ; only 
so that you minU the next step. Do not let your 
aspirations cause you to stumble in this sure, prac- 
tical, positive Present. Day by day grand plans are 
wrought out by least duties well done, and least 
opportunities improved, and least temptations re- 
sisted. Remember that the very first step that we 
all need to take is to Christ, to the side of the Mas- 
ter whose we are and whom we must serve. 

The old Professor smiled a little sadly as he lis- 
tened to Arthur’s valedictory. “ It is like the rain- 
bow with the pot of gold at its end,” he said,'*sha- 
king his wise gray head. 

And yet Arthur ended amid a burst of applause, 
and fluttering through the flower-scented air came 
a simple green wreath and fell at his feet. He 
picked it up with a gratified smile, and glanced 
over the audience as if to ask who was the giver. 
How they followed him with tormenting fun, those 
classmates who had just made such brilliant ora- 
tions, and were considered by the audience such 
wise and sedate young men ! 

“‘The victor was crowned with a wreath of 
parsley.’ Was n’t that it in the old classic days ?” 

3 


i8 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ Yes ; but this, I ’d have you to understand, is 
the ‘ivy green,’ nothing less. Why, Arthur, man, 
you are the favorite of fortune. Let ’s see how you 
look in it. Let Caesar bend his ifbble brow.” 

“ Go away, Everett,” exclaimed Arthur, dodging 
back impatiently. 

“ Say, Everett, do n’t pull the wreath to pieces. 
Arthur wants to preserve it.” 

“ Of course I do. What an absurd boy you are, 
Lawrence.” 

“ I know it,” said Lawrence meekly. 

“I only wish I knew who made it,” said Ar- 
thur, regaining his treasure. 

“ Do n’t you asked the quiet voice of Doctor 
Will, who had come behind the scenes again. 

“ Do n’t I } Why, no ! Do you i*” 

“ If it had been tossed at my brows I think I 
could guess;” and Doctor Will took the wreath, 
turning it over meditatively. 

“ Come, now, old fellow, if you have any idea, 
let us know,” began Lawrence again, capering about 
like a ten-year-old schoolboy. “ There should be 
no secrets between boon companions who have 
been digging Latin roots all these years side by 
side. Out with it. Sands.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


19 


“ If she be not fair to me, 

What care I how fair she be ?” 

sang Ray Fields, in the deep voice which had rolled 
out the German arti hour back. 

“ See here !” said Doctor Will, handing the 
wreath back to its owner, and pointing to a little 
white slip hidden among the green. 

Arthur drew it out, and read, *‘A11 things are 
possible.” 

It was in a delicate handwriting, and the boys 
clamored to see it. But Arthur did not seem any 
the wiser, and walked off, saying it was “ a pleasant 
suggestion, any how.” 

“ Say, Doctor Will,” called Lawrence Everett, 
with another gymnastic performance, “ is n’t she 
splendid.^ always helping a fellow in some such 
pretty way. If Arthur only knew it, he ought to 
be as proud as a crowned king.” 

“ Is n’t who splendid V replied Doctor Will, with 
a quiet smile, stopping to look back at the merry- 
faced student. 

“Why, the bonny Lady Jean, to be sure” 


20 


DOCTOR WILL, 


III. 

He was lying back against the grassy slope of 
the hill, heedless of the open book at his side, heed- 
less of the calm, beautiful summer afternoon, and of 
the soft light which shone over all the rugged heights 
above and around him. 

It was a grand place for a life to begin. And 
this boy had been born there, among the great 
mountain storms and shadows and the soft, slant- 
ing lights which lingered tenderly, with all the won- 
drous variations of glory between. Why, one might 
think it would make life a perfect thing, dwelling 
so in company with complete Nature, hearing her 
voice in all moods, seeing her face in all changes, 
feeling the help of her highest grandeur and the 
balm of her gentlest grace. 

How was it with the boy who had known such 
companionship for seventeen years, who was fur- 
nished that summer afternoon with such high fellow- 
ship ? Something had been growing in him strong- 
ly for weeks past — a .need, a looking forward, a 
thought of things which had not yet been, which 
could not be, even there among the mountains. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


21 


‘‘ One must get down among them, the people, 
the hearts. One must feel other lives beating be- 
side his own. That makes life’s warmth and music.” 

This was his thought, half uttered in boyish 
words, as he turned, leaning on his elbow, and drop- 
ped, one by one, some bright stones on the pages 
of his book. “Just stones, after all, for all the color 
there is in them.” 

“ How cross you look ! I am almost afraid to 
come up that way.” 

He raised himself instantly at the first words, 
and all his deeper meditations were flooded with 
the light of a glad, boyish smile. 

A girl of fifteen stood a few yards below him, 
with her hands full of fragrant herbs. Her homely 
dress was suited to the scramble she had been ta- 
king, and the joy of the summer day shone in her 
face. There was “ warmth and music” and color all 
there, if the young aspirant had recognized them. 
But he did not. He had always known Agnes El- 
der ; she had grown up with him among the moun- 
tains. And it was something which he had not 
known that he was yearning for. 

He reached out his hand to help her up, and 
laughed gayly as he said, “ Look cross, do I } Well, 
come up and cheer me then. I do n’t know what 


22 


DOCTOR WILL. 


I should do without you ; you ’re just the one pearl 
that has any real glow in it; all the rest are 
stones.” 

“ But I thought you loved the stones, Stanley,” 
she answered, seating herself on the bank and look- 
ing at the collection on his book. 

So I do ; but they wont answer for ever. I 
want now to get at what the stones represent : the 
people and the lives, with the real color in them. 
Do n’t you see 

He was half impatient, for fear that she would 
not see. But she fulfilled his demand as she al- 
ways had done. How could she help it, when they 
had lived all their lives side by side, and talked 
out their young thoughts to each other ? 

“Yes, I know; there must be beautiful lives, 
wonderful lives, down among the crowds in great 
cities. It is so still up here, and there ’s so much 
room ; they do n’t get near enough together. I 
suppose you ’ll go and find it all out some day.” 

“ Yes, indeed. I hope it will be soon too. I 
wonder if father thinks I ’ll ever get enough of 
these old books. I could have graduated by this 
time, if he had only let me go to college like other 
fellows !” He picked up his book with an energy 
which sent the stones rolling away. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


23 


“ Oh !” cried the girl regretfully, stooping to 
catch one that glittered at her feet. 

“ Stones, nothing but stones,” said her compan- 
ion contemptuously. At which she laughed out 
such a merry laugh, it made him wholly boyish 
again. 

“Now, Miss Pearl of the mountains, give me 
your bunches, and let me help you up.” 

“ Pearls do not come from the mountains, Mr. 
Mineralogist.” 

She laughed still, while he crushed the fragrant 
green close against his book in one arm, and held 
out the other to help her. Then her face became 
suddenly grave, and she said, “ Do you know, 
auntie is n’t well at all ? I am worried about her. 
She would go down among those sick people. She 
has been almost every day, until to-day. And I 
am afraid it has worn her out.” 

“She ought not to have done so much. Yet I 
don’t know how the poor people would get along 
without her. I wonder if the fever will spread.” 

“ I believe auntie said she thought not, now.” 
They walked on quickly and in silence for a few 
moments. What an old, worn path it was, leading 
toward the girl’s home. How many, many times 
they had trodden it, sometimes alone, sometimes 


24 


DOCTOR WILD 


together, backwards and forwards, on dark days 
and shining ones, all through their young lives. 
She seemed to remember it, suddenly, for she 
said, half pausing in her walk, “Why, Stanley, 
what shall I do when you go away ^ I am sure I 
can’t get along without you.” 

He smiled at her woful face. “ Oh yes, you will. 
You’ll be growing into a woman, and finding out 
lots of things for yourself. And then, some day, 
when I come back, we’ll tell our stories to each 
other.” 

“ I do n’t see how I can find out things for my- 
self. I never did. I should n’t ever have learned 
anything, if it had n’t been for you and your father ; 
and I shall be afraid of him when you are gone.” 

They both laughed at that ; but the girl raised 
her shoulders in a little gesture of dismay, as they 
stood at her cottage-door and looked across, 
through the trees, to the sombre towers of Stan- 
ley’s home. 

He went in with her ; and both were startled 
to find her aunt lying back in the armchair, with a 
white face and a look of utter helplessness. Agnes 
sprang to her side. “ Why, auntie ! what is it ? are 
you so very sick ? what can I do 

The woman lifted one hand feebly, and tried to 


DOCTOR WILL. 


25 


turn her head and speak, but could not. Only in- 
articulate sounds came as Agnes repeated her 
questions, and grew more alarmed at each one. 

“ O Stanley, what shall I do ?” 

“ I will go for the doctor. Do n’t be frightened. 
It will not take me ten minutes. I will get one 
from the hotel. There are two staying there.” 

He ran out quickly. And Agnes caught a 
gleam of hope from the sick woman’s eyes, which 
had seemed to smile, when the lips could not, to 
show satisfaction at Stanley’s words, “ I will go for 
the doctor.” 

Agnes bathed the pale face and smoothed her 
aunt’s hair tenderly, speaking in assuring words, 
which sounded dreadful to herself because they 
received no answer. 

And down the rugged path, in more haste than 
he had ever gone before, went the boy on his 
errand, while in his own quiet home sat his father, 
wondering why Stanley did not come to recite his 
Greek. 


4 


26 


DOCTOR WILL. 


IV. 

Out on the lawn, to which they had directed 
Stanley, he found both of the doctors. The old 
one was comfortably seated in a rustic armchair, 
half reading, half dozing. The young one was en- 
gaged in a game of croquet. Stanley chose the 
former, and told his errand in a few hasty words. 

Before the book was fairly closed, “ I will go, 
sir,” said the young man, who had drawn near, un- 
perceived by the lad. ‘‘ I shall have my horse 
ready in two minutes.” 

“ But, Will, this is your vacation.” 

Your vacation ; and my opportunity, sir !” He 
was hurrying away, when the look on Stanley’s 
face arrested him. 

But — ” said the boy, glancing from one to the 
other, “ I — ” he hesitated, and seemed annoyed. 

“ I see,” said the young doctor with a smile ; 
‘‘you would prefer age and experience. Never 
mind, Dr. Chester will endorse me. And I promise 
you I will come back for him if it is necessary, I 
do not think it will be,” he added, as he hastened 
away to order his horse. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


27 


Immediately there was indignation among the 
young people on the lawn. ** How absurd ! why 
could n’t he have sent the boy for Dr. Martin, at 
the Ashland House T 

Did Doctor Will come up here for a vacation, 
or didn’t he.? He has done nothing but mend 
broken bones and hover over fever cases since we 
have been here.” 

The old doctor smiled in an amused way, as the 
last speaker emphasized her words with her mallet, 
and looked as if she had missed a “point” in the 
game. “ And I dare say you think that Dr. Chester 
is a lazy old fellow, who might just as well have 
gone and let your partner finish his game ?” 

The bright color deepened on the girl’s face, as 
the old gentleman’s keen eyes turned toward her. 
But she was relieved from her embarrassment by 
the sound of horse’s hoofs. The young doctor came 
galloping up, and stopped on the other side of the 
hedge for a moment. 

“ Come,” said he to Stanley, who was at his 
side instantly, “ show me the way.” 

Then raising his hat to the party on the lawn, 
with an especial smile of regret for his fair partner, 
he started off. 

The boy kept near him ; occasionally going on 


28 


DOCTOR WILL. 


ahead, with long, quick strides up the stony path. 
His face was gloomy, and he seemed not inclined 
to speak. The doctor watched him with an amused 
smile. Perhaps there was a show of reason in the 
boy’s half wrath, for the young man who was going 
at his call seemed scarcely older than himself, 
with his fair hair, his bright color, and his eager, 
boyish movements. 

“It wont do!” he said, shaking his head and 
communing with himself. “ I must get a gray wig, 
and wear glasses, or no one will ever put any con- 
fidence in me.” 

“Wont you tell me your name.^” he asked, 
riding close to the boy’s side ; “ we might become 
better acquainted, I think.” 

“ My name is Stanley Worthington.” He spoke 
it proudly. 

“ And it is a good name,” thought his compan- 
ion ; “ and you ’re 'h handsome fellow too.” 

Stanley asked for no confidence in return ; but 
the young man said, “ My name is ‘ Doctor Will 
at least, that is what I have been called ever since 
I first began to think of being a doctor ; and that 
is a long time ago.” 

Stanley looked rather surprised. 

“ I used to go about with Dr. Chester when I 


DOCTOR WILL. 


29 


was a little boy ; and I believe I received my name 
then. I have been associated with him always, 
snd so most people have continued to call me 
Doctor Will.’ ” Then he laughed and added, My 
proper title is William Watkins, M. D., and I have 
had it for more than a year, and I have been in 
hospital practice, and seen more things — dreadful 
things — than your philosophy dreams of. So keep 
up your courage.” 

Stanley’s only answer was, “ This is the house,” 
as he sprang up the last rocky knoll, and stood be- 
fore the cottage gate. 

The girl was at the door, and the doctor was 
there as quick as Stanley, having only given one 
word to his horse : stand !” 

“ I am so glad you have come,” she cried. I 
know it has n’t been long ; but it seemed so.” 

The doctor greeted her politely and passed in. 
The instant his patient saw him her eyes lighted 
up, and she tried to reach out her hand. 

‘‘Ah yes,” he said, “I know you. You have 
been doing too much, that is all.” 

He did not speak more, as he examined the 
powerless form. Then he asked Agnes if a bed 
was ready. 

‘•Yes, sir,” she said, “up stairs.” 


30 


DOCTOR WILL, 


But we must have it here, I think. Will you 
have a nurse T 

^‘Yes; myself and Mima,” looking toward the 
girl, who had just come in from the kitchen. 

“Will you let me move the bed. ^ It can be 
done in a few minutes.” 

“ I can do it,” said Mima, the stalwart mountain 
girl. 

But he followed her out, leaving Agnes looking 
a little surprised, and Stanley quite indignant. 
But neither of them said a word, for there was a 
light in the sick woman’s eyes and a look of quiet 
satisfaction on her face. 

They heard the doctor’s quick, light tread, and 
Mima’s slow, emphatic movements in the next 
room, and soon all was ready and comfortable. 

“ Now !” said the doctor, bending over the pa- 
tient with an assuring smile. Then without another 
word, he lifted her in his strong young arms, and 
laid her upon the bed. After giving her a soothing 
draught, and saying a few words to Agnes and 
Mima as to other prescriptions, he came out, clo- 
sing the door, and seated himself near the window 
of the outside room. 

Stanley moved impatiently, as if not knowing 
what to say or do. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


31 


“Do they live here all alone — without a man, I 
mean ?” asked the doctor presently. 

“ Not exactly ; for I am here every day, or see 
some of them, which is just the same.” 

“ Well, then,” said the other, repressing a smile, 
“ I shall depend on you to let me know if I am 
needed at any time, or if anything unforeseen oc- 
curs. It is a beautiful place up here. Who lives 
there?” pointing to the dark towers beyond the 
trees. 

“I do.” 

“ It must be a pleasant home. I should like to 
see it some time, after you have forgiven me for 
not letting Dr. Chester come in my stead to- 
day.” 

Stanley’s face flushed a little, but his generous 
spirit overcame, and he said, “ Father will be glad 
to see you there at any time, I know.” 

“ She is asleep,” said Agnes, coming in with a 
light step and an anxious face. 

“ That is right. I think she will get over this. 
She has been overtaxing her strength lately. I 
have met her day after day down in the village. 
She has been a wonderful help and comfort there ; 
but she must be cared for herself now.” 

“ Why then you must be the doctor whom auntie 


32 


DOCTOR WILL. 


has talked so much about. She says you have 
done so much good, and — ” 

The girl stopped suddenly, and looked embar- 
rassed. Stanley stared at her in amazement, and 
the doctor laughed quietly. 

Well, I do n’t know about that. But Mrs. 
Greaves and I are very good friends ; and we must 
give her the best of care, and have her well again 
as soon as possible.” 

He went in to look at his patient again ; and 
then, after giving further directions to Agnes, and 
saying when he would come again, he rode away. 

Stanley watched until he had disappeared down 
the mountain road, and then said impatiently, 
“ Well, if your aunt likes him, I do n’t. He ’s a 
conceited fellow.” 

“ Is he ?” said Agnes absently, thinking of her 
aunt more than of the doctor. 

Of course he is. He came here without being 
asked, in the first place ; and I ’m sure he has been 
ordering you and Mima around, and making him- 
self very officious.” 

“ Yes,” replied Agnes, trying to follow Stanley’s 
train of thought. She always agreed with Stanley. 
She had seen with his eyes and liked according 
to his likings, ever since she could remember. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


33 


“ He does n’t even use his proper name. He 
says they call him Doctor Will,’ and it’s pretty 
plain that he likes it. Such nonsense !” 

“'Yes, that is what auntie said they called him 
down in the village. But she says everybody likes 
him there, and that he has worked hard among the 
poor.” 

“ Pshaw !” answered the lad. And he told her 
how he had found the young doctor playing cro- 
quet “ with a set of fashionable girls ” on the hotel 
grounds. “But I don’t care, if your aunt likes 
him, and he knows what he’s about. Now I’m 
going to tell father, and ask him to send Giles 
over to stay with you to-night, in case you want 
anything. Good-by. He waved his cap and sprang 
away over the rocks. 


5 


34 


DOCTOR WILD 


V. 

He was thinking of what she had said, as he 
leaned back in his comfortable chair, after finishing 
his studies for the day. There must be beautiful 
lives, wonderful lives, down among the crowds.” 
Was that one of them which had crossed his own 
that day, and which somehow had jarred, spoiling 
the harmony } And whose fault was that ? “ Mine, 
I suppose,” Stanley acknowledged to himself with 
an impatient movement. “ But he did seem so self- 
sufficient, and took things into his own hands in 
such a master-way. Agnes, too, seemed to think it 
was all right. I wonder how she could. Perhaps 
he ’ll appropriate her too, the little Pearl.” Stanley 
threw back his head, and looked boyishly defiant, 
as if he meant, “ I ’d like to see him.” 

She, too, was thinking of what he had said, as 
she sat by her aunt’s bedside, with the old clock in 
the corner ticking away the anxious hours. “ You 
will be growing into a woman, and finding out 
things for yourself.” Was she beginning alfeady } 
was this one of the things which she had found out 
that day, how hard it would be to do without him ? 


DOCTOR WILL. 


35 

how much she would miss him when he had left 
her, to go about among the people and the lives 
in the great world ? She wondered if he would be 
satisfied with what he would find out in the world, 
down among the crowds.” He had not seemed 
pleased with what he had met that day. He had 
called the young doctor conceited and officious ; 
‘‘and perhaps he is,” added the girl, trying to re- 
member. “ At any rate, he is n’t half, not half so 
splendid as Stanley.” 

At the close of which emphatic thought she 
bent repentantly over her sleeping aunt, who had 
often praised the young doctor, and who perhaps 
would be brought back to health through his instru- 
mentality. 

Dr. Chester and his youthful fellow-worker sat 
talking it over together on the piazza, with the flut- 
ter of dresses and the hum of voices and music in 
the background. 

“ Is n’t there anything I can do said the young 
man abruptly, after a little silence, which had fol- 
lowed the account of his visit up on the mountain. 

“ Do T repeated the old doctor, looking at him 
sharply through his spectacles, and catching his 
meaning instantly — “do — to make yourself look 
older Yes, go into a hospital, and live there. 


36 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Forget all about the dear old foolish world outside, 
never think of mountains or of pretty girls, and 
you ’ll soon be as gray as a badger and as solemn 
as an owl.” 

Doctor Will laughedc “I don’t know. I am 
afraid I should be caught even there turning a som- 
ersault behind a patient’s screen, or playing tag 
with an imaginary companion in the operating-room. 
My animal spirits do so get the upper hand. But 
you should have seen that young Hercules go up 
the mountain. It was an even game between him 
and my horse. He is a handsome boy, and, I im- 
agine, a bright one. I fell in love with his home — 
a dark, castlelike building on the mountain-side, 
quite near to this cottage where our new patient is. 
After I had, with my usual impertinence, invited 
myself there, he said that he was sure his father 
would be glad to see me at any time. So, if you 
please, sir, we will go up some day.” 

“ We will } Bless you, boy, how do you think I 
am going to get up that mountain with these old 

limbs r 

Dr. Chester rubbed the limbs mentioned with 
regretful tenderness, as if he remembered grateful- 
ly all the wonderful feats they had accomplished in 
days gone by. 


DOCTOR WILL, 


37 


Why, sir, you shall ride my pony. There is a 
good bridle-path, and you wont know that you are 
out of your easy-chair. Leopold steps very dain- 
tily.” 

Leopold ! What an absurd name for a pony.” 

The young man laughed. “ It is odd. But it 
was this boy’s name, not the pony’s, which I was 
thinking of. It sounds familiar, and I am pretty 
sure it is a name which I have heard you mention, 
sir, years ago, when you used to tell me stories of 
your college days. Worthington, Stanley Wor- 
thington, is his name.” 

“ Worthington ! Why,” said Dr. Chester, taking 
off his glasses, as he always did when he became 
interested in the conversation, “ certainly. Wor- 
thington, Stanley Worthington, was the name of an 
old classmate and friend of mine. After he mar- 
ried I lost sight of him. I wonder if it can be he } 
Why in the world can he be living up there among 
the clouds ?” 

“ It ’s a glorious place,” said Doctor Will, with 
enthusiasm. “ But I thought the boy had a dissat- 
isfied look. He may not like it.” 

Well, well,” mused the old doctor, “ Worthing- 
ton married the very handsomest girl in the world. 
But somehow I always imagined she did not make 


38 DOCTOR WILL. 

him very happy. Beauty isn’t everything, my 
boy.” 

No, sir,” answered the “ boy,” with a little 
respectful smile. “ That is what the ^ bonny lady 
Jean ’ said yesterday, as she stood afar off looking 
worshipfully up to the firmament where Madame 
Klein and the Professor shine so serenely. Jeannie 
says that she feels her nothingness when she is in 
the presence of ^ that grand, homely woman.’ ” 

“ She is a right royal old soul. And as for the 
Professor, he is a man out of a thousand ; and what 
a budget of knowledge he has tucked away in that 
head of his.” 

I believe I ’ll get the * bonny lady ’ to go up 
and see that little mountain girl. She seems a 
brave little creature ; and what a lonely place that 
must be for her !” 

And so there was a stir in the party of young 
folks a day or two later, when Jeannie Macdonald 
announced that she was “going up the mountain 
with Doctor Will.” 

“ Nonsense ! how can you i*” said pretty Maud 
Fields. 

“ And besides, we counted on you for our riding 
party,” added Lawrence Everett. 

“ Well, I can ride a pony, Maud ; but the doctor 


DOCTOR WILL. 


39 


and I both prefer to climb,” answered Jeannie, with 
a smile at Maud’s dismayed face. '‘And as for 
your ride, Lawrence, here is Mrs. Maggie, who will 
be far better company than I. You see, when I 
go, Maggie thinks she has an excuse for staying 
lazily at home, because of my age and experience 
and ability to keep you all in order. And I think 
it is time she had her trial.” 

Lawrence made his most superb bow to “Mrs. 
Maggie,” and said he was “ only too happy to think 
that she might be induced to favor them with her 
company but he did not at all see why one lumi- 
nary should disappear just because another might 
give its light. “ We need all the steady brilliancy 
we can get, to keep us safe in the midst of these 
meteoric juveniles.” 

Maud tossed her head. She “did think that 
Lawrence Everett was so absurd, always to prefer 
women, and married ones too, to girls.” 

“ But seriously, Jeannie,” said Mrs. Maggie, 
looking up from her work, “what does Will want 
of you } This brother of mine has so many new 
schemes one can’t keep track of him.” 

“ I am to go up to see a little mountain-girl, the 
niece of the good woman who had a stroke of pa- 
ralysis. And he says it is a beautiful spot up 


40 


DOCTOR WILL. 


there: and if I find it worth while, we might all 
make an excursion up some day. We can explore, 
and take our picnic with us, and have a romantic 
time generally.” 

“ We should probably leave out the ' little moun- 
tain girl,’ whom you and Doctor Will find so capti- 
vating.” 

“ Who is it that Doctor Will finds captivating ?” 
asked a quiet voice ; and there appeared “ Doctor 
Will” himself. 

The flush on Maud Fields’ cheek deepened a 
little, but she answered, with a curl of her pretty 
lip, “ Why, a small mountain girl whom you have 
invited Jeannie to visit, leaving the rest of us out 
in the cold.” 

“ Beware of the green-eyed monster, Maud,” 
said Lawrence Everett, playing ball with Mrs. Mag- 
gie’s bright worsteds and looking very mischiev- 
ous. 

Maud did not deign to answer him. And Doc- 
tor Will said, The mountain girl is not captivating 
in her treatment of me. She rather snubs me. But 
you would be captivated. Miss Maud, with her de- 
voted champion, as handsome a fellow as you ever 
set your eyes upon, who lives in a grand old castle 
up there, and who could match Everett here in any 


DOCTOR WILL. 


41 


college examination, although he has been educated 
wholly by his hermit father.” 

“ Now you talk !” cried Everett, straightening 
up. “ Where is this young Apollo } Let me hear 
him translate Plato off-hand ! And is the old gen- 
tleman a veritable hermit ? and is Apollo about to 
cross lances with you for the smile of a mountain 
maid ? and — ” 

“ Come, Jeannie, it is time to go. Farewell, 
Everett ; keep right on ; do n’t let us hinder you.” 

Jeannie ran for her “plaid” in the old, girlish 
way. Indeed, she did not look much less girlish 
than when we knew her first, years ago ; and she 
declared her intention of remaining a “ lone Scotch 
maiden” always. She and Doctor Will were fast 
friends, and whenever he found a particularly inter- 
esting or needy patient, or any one who seemed to 
want sympathy and brightness, he always took 
Jeannie to see her. And sometimes he would say, 
when he feared he might be troubling her, “You 
know, Jeannie, that I am ‘two doctors’ — one for 
myself and one for Montgomery; and whenever 
you help in the work, it is as if you were helping 
Monty, as in the old days.” 

Then they both would wander back and talk and 
think over the old days, speaking always most ten- 
6 


42 


DOCTOR WILL. 


derly of “Monty,” the brave young spirit who had 
made such brightness for them and taught them 
such grand life-lessons from his invalid chair. No 
one except Jeannie, and perhaps Dr. Chester, knew 
how much of Doctor Will’s inspiration and help 
came from that gentle memory, nor how many of 
Monty’s old words came to his mind day by day as 
he went on to his life-work. They knew, also, as 
Doctor Will knew, that the invalid boy-friend had 
learned his lessons where we all must sit to learn 
them well — at the feet of the Master. It is he only, 
the great, patient Teacher, who can fit each of us 
for the right doing of our daily tasks, for the right 
bearing of our daily crosses, and for the right en- 
joyment of our daily gifts and gladness. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


43 


VI. 

Je ANNIE proved herself a veritable Scotch lassie 
in her climbing of the rocky cliffs that day. And 
in her delight in all the beauties of nature she was 
as girlish as when she used to run up to Monty, 
years before, with her hands full of the fresh wild- 
flowers from her country home. 

Doctor Will thought of this, and wondered at 
her. He had been a little boy in those days, and 
looked up to Jeannie Macdonald with almost rever- 
ence, thinking her the brightest and kindest and 
most wonderful of girls. Here he was, this day, * 
thinking the same thing still ; he, a man, who had 
learned a great deal about the mystery and the sad- 
ness of life ; and she, the same bright, happy-heart- 
ed Jeannie, no longer a girl, but a woman who kept 
the glad girl-heart, full of gentle thoughts and hopes. 

Doctor Will was not the only one who looked 
up to her with reverence. She had proved herself 
so true and pure and helpful, that all men who knew 
her, boys or men, felt stronger and better in her 
presence. 

And, girls, that is just the work which God has 


44 


DOCTOR WILL. 


given you to do in this world. By your purity and 
truth and gentleness to help all men about you to 
be nobler and better. Is not that a great and beau- 
tiful work } 

The “ bonny lady Jean,” as these boys had named 
her, did not guess how helpful a person she was as 
she went skipping from rock to rock that bright 
summer day. Doctor Will laughed, and thought 
that his long limbs were having hard work to keep 
up with her. At every new turn in the rocky path 
she would stop to admire the view. And it was 
just like life : the higher they went, the more per- 
fect and beautiful did everything look. Away down 
in the little village the cottages seemed like bits of 
whiteness, and the dusty roads like sunlit paths. 
Nearer, the practical hotel looked quite like a pal- 
ace, with a sunbeam touching every window, and 
the distance hiding all the rough surroundings. 

So it is with our lives. The higher we get, our 
hearts being filled with the freshness of God’s 
Spirit, and our aims made nobler and larger, the 
more glorified and beautiful will become the com- 
mon daily duties ; and the more calm will all trouble 
and vexation seem, with God’s sunlight of love shi- 
ning down upon it. 

Why, Will, how glad I am that you asked me 


DOCTOR WILL. 


45 

to come with you. Why have you not told some of 
us about all this wonder and beauty T 

“ I only found it out myself a few days ago ; and 
while I was planning in my mind how we should all 
make an excursion up here, the thought came to 
me of how you would like to see my little mountain 
girl, and of how she might like to see you ; and 
then I determined that you and I should come to- 
gether first. And here we are. This is the cot- 
tage ; and see, over there is the great gloomy house 
which I am so eager to explore.” 

A timid face appeared at the door of the cot- 
tage, and its smile flitted suddenly away behind a 
blush, as the mountain girl saw the bonny lady who 
had come with the doctor. 

Agnes, good-morning. This is my friend, ^ the 
bonny lady Jean,’ whom I have brought to become 
acquainted with you, and to see your pretty moun- 
tain home.” 

Doctor Will raised his hat with as much grace 
as he would have used towards one of his fashion- 
able city acquaintances, and the modest mountain 
girl accepted the courtesy as her simple right. 
Two people had taught her that : one, an old gen- 
tleman, her teacher and helper, of whom she was 
almost afraid at times ; and the other, her boy- 


46 


DOCTOR WILD 


friend and companion — Stanley Worthington and 
his father. 

“ I am glad to see you,” she said, in her half- 
childish fashion, and held out her hand, not knowing 
what to call the lady to whom the doctor had given 
such a peculiar name. 

“ How is your aunty to-day T 
I think she is a little better. Please walk in.” 

While the doctor went in to his patient, Jeannie 
sat in the outer room and talked to the girl. Her 
sweet, low voice and pleasant ways were very de- 
lightful to Agnes ; and at her kind, sympathizing 
questions she opened her heart, and spoke of many 
things freely as she seemed never to have done in 
all her life before. 

“ I am so glad I have found you out. You must 
let me come to see you often ; and perhaps you will 
come down to the hotel sometimes and see me. Do 
you ever get lonely up here 

“ I never have. But if Stanley goes away, I am 
sure I shall. He and I have lived here all our lives 
together.” 

“Is Stanley going away?” asked Jeannie, not 
half knowing who “ Stanley ” was, but wondering 
at the girl’s large, sad eyes. 

“Yes, ma’am. He has nearly finished his stud- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


47 


ies, and his father will let him go away to travel 
and find out all about the beautiful world. He likes 
it, but I know I shall feel all alone when he is 
gone.” 

“ Have you studied your lessons with him T 
asked Jeannie, wondering at the girl’s very correct 
manner of speech, with no mountain “ twang,” such 
as she had half expected. 

Yes, ma’am. Stanley began to teach me little 
lessons, at first ; and when Mr. Worthington heard 
us one day, he asked me to go and be his pupil. 
Ever since, I have gone every day to his house and 
recited, until auntie was taken sick ; now I must 
take care of her.” 

A shadow fell across the bright face, and Jean- 
nie said cheeringly, “ I think she will be better soon. 
Doctor Will knows a great deal, and I am quite 
sure he can help her.” 

“ What strange names you both have,” said Ag- 
nes. At this the “ bonny lady ” laughed a merry 
little laugh, and began to explain about the odd 
names. While she was talking, the sick woman in 
the back-room asked in her broken speech, which 
had been partially restored, Who is out there, with 
such a sweet voice V 

“ A young lady whom I asked to come with me 


48 


DOCTOR WILL. 


and get acquainted with Agnes. She is one who 
makes everybody love her, and I thought it might 
be pleasant for your little mountain girl to know 
some kind and gentle lady, now that you are sick, 
and she must feel lonely sometim.es.” 

“You are very kind. Agnes will be glad, I 
know. Poor child ! I do n’t know what will be- 
come of her if I do not get well.” 

“ Some one will take care of her, you may be 
sure,” said Doctor Will cheerily. Then he listened 
a moment, and said, “Perhaps you would like to 
hear the sweet-voiced lady sing a little for you.” 

“ Oh, I should !” and the woman’s pale face 
lighted up. 

The doctor went out and spoke to Jeannie. 

With cheeks flushed with her quick sympathy 
for the invalid and her old girlish timidity, she rose 
to go into the other room. Her bright face and 
kind words were like medicine to the sick woman, 
and the touch of her hands was more soothing than 
the gentlest summer breeze. 

“ What shall I sing, Doctor Will ?” she asked, 
looking up at her old friend. 

He mentioned one or two of his favorites, and 
she sang them in her easy, pleasant way. Mrs. 
Greaves and Agnes were quite overcome with won- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


49 


der and delight. Such a sweet voice, from such a 
fair and gentle woman, had never been heard in 
their mountain home, where the birds had most of 
the concerts to themselves. It carried the sick 
woman’s thoughts back into the past, when she had 
been young and had known more of the gayety and 
bustle of life. She listened with closed eyes and 
an expression of rest and content upon her white 
face. 

There was another listener, too. He had come 
in softly, and stood, with a perplexed face, just by 
the doorway. He was thinking to himself — think- 
ing so busily and earnestly, that half of the beauty 
of the music was lost to him. 

“That is what one gets used to out in the 
world,” he thought. “ That is one of the pleasures, 
and there must be so many. And what a green 
mountaineer I am to stand here gaping, as if such 
things were never heard before.” 

He was turning away, half angrily, when he 
caught sight of the doctor’s face. It was as if he 
had never heard Jeannie Macdonald sing before. 
He seemed watching for every note, and there was 
a light in his eyes which Stanley had not seen there 
until then. Ah, the boy did not know that Doctor 
Will’s thoughts had wandered back over the years. 

7 


DOCTOR WILL, 


50 

and that while he looked at the sweet-voiced lady, 
he seemed to see a pale-faced lad sitting in an inva- 
lid-chair, unable to move, and that he seemed, too, 
to hear echoes of many voices, each one saying, 
“ Monty ! Monty !” No one knew this but Jeannie; 
and when she stopped singing and looked up at the 
tall young doctor, she saw by the expression on his 
face that he had gone back to the days when he 
was a little boy of ten, going “up stairs” to learn 
great lessons by the side of Montgomery Meade. 

Many words of thanks were spoken to the gen- 
tle singer. And “ O Stanley, I am so glad you came. 
Was n’t it lovely cried Agnes, springing to the 
side of her friend. 

“Yes,” he said ; and then added to himself, “ I 
wish you could go out into the beautiful world and 
learn it. I do n’t see why you should n’t.” 

Then, as the old feeling of impatience was 
creeping over him. Doctor Will stopped it by say- 
ing, “There is a crowd of young people at our 
hotel, Stanley, who want to make an excursion 
among these mountains. Could you go with us 
some day, and help me show them the beauties 

“ Certainly ; and I believe I can show you a 
great deal. The ‘ emerald cave,’ you know, Agnes ; 
we must take them there.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


51 

“ Oh yes. And all the ladies will want rings 
made,” she replied, laughing. 

Well, if that is the case, it may prove a costly 
excursion to some of us,” said the doctor. 

After seeing his patient once more, he asked 
Stanley to walk a little way with them, and they 
settled upon a day when he could meet them and 
guide them over the wonders of his rocky home. 

As he left them to go back. Doctor Will turned, 
saying, “ Look, Jeannie, how he goes over those 
rocks like an antelope. He is a splendid fellow.” 

“Yes; but, O Will, he needs a mother. I see 
it in his face.” 

At which Doctor Will smiled, and said that 
bonny Jean always saw more than other folks. 


52 


DOCTOR WILL. 


VII. 

“Our revered Fossil must go too.” 

“ Lawrence, I wish you would learn to speak 
more respectfully of Professor Klein.” 

“^Fair one with the golden locks,’ your wish 
is law,” and Lawrence made a low bow to his 
sister. 

“Everett has as deep a respect for Professor 
Klein as any of us ; the trouble is, he cannot forget 
his college habits,” said Doctor Will. 

“Alma mater forbid!” cried the tormentor, 
clasping his arms around Fred Ames, who stood 
near. “But about our most revered Professor 
Klein, can you persuade him to accompany us, 
William, M. D. 

“I believe he considers it quite necessary, if 
we allow such scapegraces as you.” 

“ Oh, yes, he is coming ; and so is Madame — at 
least, I am going this very minute to ask her.” 

Maud Fields was about to ask why Madame 
need be invited, but Jeannie was out of hearing 
before she could say a word. And Lizzie Meade 
smiled quietly to herself at the pretty, vexed face. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


S3 


“ It is like having an Encyclopedia and a Floral 
Dictionary, and all the beautiful helps in the world, 
to have Professor Klein and Madame go with us 
anywhere,” she said. 

“ But are we to have lessons for ever asked 
Maud impatiently. 

“ I hope so ; and I wish we might always have 
such teachers ; do n’t you, Mrs. Maggie 

“Yes, indeed. I am going to get Herbert to 
pitch our family tent near to theirs, for I con- 
sider that my greatest lessons have only just be- 
gun, and the help of such a woman as Madame 
Klein would be a great consideration.” 

In the meantime Jeannie was coaxing Madame 
to accompany them on this famous excursion. 
“ You shall have a splendid little pony ; Doctor 
Will has arranged all that : and — ” 

“ What !” cried the funny little old lady, “ I to 
ride a pony, and all you to walk } No, no ; I like 
to go on foot too. I show you I can climb.” 

“But wont you get tired.?” ventured Jeannie 
again ; “ it is such a scramble.” 

“ Oh, no, no. If so, you leave me by the road- 
side. I not hinder you if I go.” 

“Hinder! No, indeed; you will be just the 
help we want. I am so glad you will go.” 


54 


DOCTOR WILL. 


And so were nearly all the young folks, when 
the next morning found them assembling for a 
start, although even her best friends could scarcely 
repress a smile as Madame made her appearance in 
a short mountain-dress and a huge sun-hat, over 
which was thrown a comfortable green veil, and 
provided with a stout staff, which she asserted was 
better than the arm of any gentleman. Maud Fields 
did not agree with her, and laughed at the idea of 
carrying a climbing-pole. 

“ Oh, but it ’s a great help, Maud,” said Lizzie 
Meade, who also had a staff, even in such a little 
climb as ours will be. And it makes you feel so 
independent.” 

Maud shook her head and danced on in front 
with light, agile steps. 

Maud is one of the clinging sort, is n’t she 
some one remarked mischievously. 

“ Well, and is n’t that the proper thing for any 
woman to be replied Jeannie, looking ahead at 
the graceful girlish form. Does n’t she make a 
pretty picture ?” 

‘‘Yes,” answered Charlie Warner slowly; then 
he turned to the quiet, womanly figure at his side, 
and said with a frank smile, “ but the bonny lady 
Jean for me.” 


DOCTOR WILL, 


55 


“ O Charlie ! There, Doctor Will has met his 
guide. See, is he not a fine-looking lad 

Stanley came forth, making a striking picture 
as he stood on the edge of an overhanging rock, 
with the morning sunlight touching up his strong 
young figure. He acknowledged Doctor Will’s in- 
troductions to the members of the party with a cer- 
tain stiffness which was not all boyish diffidence. 
He seemed somewhat set in defiance against the 
great world, about which he knew so little. It 
fretted him that he knew so little. And this was 
bewildering to him, this sudden meeting with the 
youth and lightness and gayety of that world. T 
think that Doctor Will understood how it was. At 
all events, he said in his pleasant way, “Now, my 
friends, we shall have a guide who knows the mys- 
teries of the mountains as he knows his A, B, C’s. 
We shall trust ourselves to his understanding.” 

Then, as he went on ahead with Stanley, he 
asked, “ Where is your friend Agnes V 

“I could not get her to leave her aunt. There 
was no need of her staying, but she would. Mima 
could have done well enough.” 

“Yes, I think so. And we should like to have 
your friend with us.” 

“She knows more about the mountain plants 


56 


DOCTOR WILD 


and flowers than I do. She and father always look 
for flowers but I find the stones. I am going to 
show you the ^ emerald cave ’ first. Lots of parties 
visit it every summer, and the ladies always want 
something — rings or ^ charms ’ — made from pieces 
of the stone, it is so pretty.” 

“ Ho for the emerald cave !” cried out Lawrence, 
who had come up behind them and overheard. 

And is n’t there some witchery about the stone ? 
Will it bring immortal fame or riches ? Or what 
power has it ? List, maidens !” 

“ None at all,” answered Stanley shortly, spring- 
ing on ahead, as if disdainful of Everett’s fun. And 
every one laughed at the young man ; even Ma- 
dame Klein, who came puffing up, and stopping to 
rest, said, “ Aha, my friend, you too much boy for 
him.” 

“ Is n’t he splendid, though said Maud, whom 
Fred Ames brought up at that moment, all flushed 
and beautiful from the exertion. did not ima- 
gine that such people lived away up here.” 

“ Oh, it is a grand place to live in, grand !” ex- 
claimed the Professor, taking off his hat and let- 
ting the cool mountain air stir his thin, gray locks. 
“ It is enough to make one good, sublime, con- 
tent.” 


DOCTOR WILD 


57 , 


“ Oh, but you get not it even here,” said his 
wife, looking fondly into his face ; '‘you must have 
the up, and the down, too ; the lower life, as well as 
the mountain height, to make the real good.” 

Jeannie’s eyes sparkled. She enjoyed hearing 
Madame talk in her quaint, broken way. 

“One might become selfish and unsympathi- 
zing,” she said, “living alone in such peace and 
beauty ; is n’t it so, Madame T' 

“ Yes, there is always poor humanity, and — see ! 
muddy streets, and suffering, and dirt and she 
pointed down to the little village nestling under the 
hills. 

“ Right, my wife. We want both hill and valley 
to make complete. Always right, my wife.” 

And the young people smiled as the old Profesr 
sor looked admiringly at the funny little woman, 
and still held his hat in his hand as he helped her 
up to the level where stood Doctor Will and Stan- 
ley waiting for them. 

The “emerald cave” was a curiously-hidden- 
away place under some overhanging rocks, where 
they all crowded eagerly to see the beauties which 
Stanley had promised. When they had become 
accustomed to the dim light, the stones seemed to 
sparkle all around them, and instantly every one 
8 


58 DOCTOR WILD * 

went down on hands and knees to secure some. It 
was not very easy. 

Oh, oh !” cried the girls ; ‘‘ what shall we do } 
we can’t get them loose. Oh, what beauties, too.” 

“ What are they, any how ?” 

The old Professor had seated himself quietly 
upon the edge of a rock, and was examining the 
stone which visitors to the place had named the 
“emerald.” It was uncommon and very pretty. 
“I think it is — ” he began slowly, adjusting his 
glasses. 

“ Class in mineralogy, walk up !” called Law- 
rence Everett, laughing at the familiar college voice 
and manner of the Professor. He and Maud and 
one or two others disappeared, declaring that they 
must secure some of the stones, whatever they 
might be, as mementos of their pleasant vaca- 
tion. 

Stanley Worthington seemed most interested of 
all in Professor Klein’s talk, and he was eager to 
tell all he knew of that stone, and of others which 
he had found among the hills, and of how they ap- 
peared in the more common pieces of rock. 

The old gentleman soon turned his sharp eyes 
away from the “emeralds” and fastened them upon 
the more interesting specimen of boyhood. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


59 

Have you always lived here ?” he asked, look- 
ing at Stanley’s handsome, intelligent face. 

“ Ever since I can remember, sir. I have had 
my college course right here among these rocks, and 
drank in Homer with the mountain air.” 

Ah, then you have him well,” said the old man, 
smiling. 

I think so,” the lad replied, with a proud lift- 
ing of his head. 

Just then a shout interrupted them, and Law- 
rence appeared with a very fine specimen of the 
mountain emerald.” All the young people fell to 
work immediately, and the rocks reechoed with the 
sound of hammering and of merry voices. 

Madame Klein and “ Mrs. Maggie ” found a 
shady spot outside of the cave, and began to pre- 
pare the lunch. ^‘Ach, a fine lad! and he to have 
no mother!” said Madame, thinking of Stanley. 

Yes, indeed ; how a mother would help him !” 
said Maggie, thinking fondly of her own parents, 
who were still living, and to whom their grown-up 
children still went for counsel and comfort. 

There was a great display of precious stones ” 
when the party assembled for luncheon, and won- 
derful bits of jewelry, for remembrance, were to be 
made of them — rings and seals and charms. 


6o 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“And I think that I have the finest one of the 
lot,” said Lawrence, selecting one from his vest- 
pocket, and showing it to the company. 

While all were admiring it, Stanley quietly took 
one from his pocket, placed it in the palm of his 
hand, and held it by the side of Lawrence’s. It 
was a larger one and far more perfect. 

“ Oh, you rogue !” cried Lawrence. “ And I 
thought I had the ^ Koh-i-noor i Miss Maud will 
not accept mine, now, I am sure.” 

Every one laughed, and Maud said nothing. 
But as they began luncheon it was noticed that 
Stanley quietly put the beautiful stone back in his 
pocket. Jeannie Macdonald saw a little smile flicker 
over Doctor Will’s face, and she thought she knew 
what it meant. 

When they were parting, at the close of the day, 
she said to Stanley, “ Will you give my love to your 
friend Agnes, and tell her I want to come again 
some day soon, to see her. And tell her I know 
that she will have the prettiest one of all the ‘eme- 
ralds’ which we found to-day.” 

His face flushed and he looked surprised. But 
he could not help smiling, in answer to her bright 
look of interest. “ I always give the best of every- 
thing to Agnes,” he said bashfully. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


6i 


“ I am glad. I think you ought to.” 

Jeannie nodded pleasantly, and ran after the 
others, while Doctor Will followed Stanley across 
the mountain to see his patient. 

There !” said Stanley, when he showed his shi- 
ning treasure to Agnes; “not one of them found 
anything like it. And I shall take it with me when 
I go away, and it shall come back to you set in gold, 
for the very first present that I send you.” 


62 


DOCTOR WILL, 


VIII. 

Doctor Will’s famous little pony Leopold car- 
ried Dr. Chester safely up the mountain one day. 
And as he and the young doctor went in at the en- 
trance of the stately stone house, he wondered if 
this Mr. Worthington could really be his old col- 
lege friend. 

What a great castle for a boy to live in,” said 
Doctor Will to himself ; “ grand and rich, but so 
still ! No wonder he is impatient to see the noisy 
world.” 

Doctor Will’s thoughts went back to a certain 
bright room up stairs,” which he had known in 
his boyhood, a very plain room, with just sunlight 
and pleasant faces to beautify it. What a good 
room it had been to him. Better than all the quiet 
grandness of this one. He thought of the invalid 
boy who had sat in that room day after day, with 
no gloom about him, but only the brightness of pa- 
tience and peace, which made every one glad to go 
in and see him. 

If Doctor Will had not been interrupted, he 
might have sat there thinking over the past for an 


DOCTOR WILL. 63 

hour ; but presently the door opened, and a voice 
said, “ Good-morning ; this is my father.” 

A stately, gray-haired gentleman stood by the 
lad’s side, and there was only a minute’s pause be- 
fore he said, with a smile of recognition, ‘‘ This is 
my old friend Chester !” 

It was pleasant to see the two old men clasp 
hands and look into each other’s faces. They 
seemed seeking for some sign of the past. Were 
they the two boys who had snowballed and skated 
together.? Were these the merry ones who had 
dreaded the school examinations, and who had 
worked so hard to enter college together .? Were 
these the two who had laid wonderful plans, side 
by side, for the future ? who had dreamed pleasant 
dreams of the beauty and the glory of life .? Yes ; 
and now there they stood on the downward slope 
of the hill, clasping hands and thinking back upon 
all that spring-time freshness and joy and hope. 

“ It does n’t seem possible. How many years ?” 
said the old doctor, with a little trembling in his 
voice. 

Oh, my dear Chester, I never count the years,” 
answered the other ; and there was a sound of wea- 
riness in his tone. 

“Suppose that we juvenile persons take our- 


64 


DOCTOR WILL. 


selves away,” suggested Doctor Wills. “ I would 
like to see around a little ; it is such a beautiful 
place up here.” 

Mr. Worthington turned, and spoke in a kindly, 
gentlemanly way, but not with any such interest 
in face or voice as Dr. Chester showed when he 
shook hands with young Stanley. 

The two older men settled down in the dim, 
beautiful room for a talk ; and Stanley went with 
Dr. Will, to show him the house and its surround- 
ings. It wss a beautiful house. Rich coloring 
and softened light made every room delightful to 
linger in. And Doctor Will at every step kept 
saying to himself, “ How the girls would like to 
see this.” 

By “ the girls,” the doctor meant especially his 
sister, with her friend Lizzie Meade, and the “ bon- 
ny lady Jane.” He knew exactly what they would 
enjoy, because he had enjoyed things with them 
nearly all his life. 

“ This is the library where we have our lessons, 
Agnes and I,” said Stanley, opening the door into 
a long room, where the stained glass cast a beauti- 
ful light over the great shelves of books ; and 
where everything seemed still and charming enough 
for a poet. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


65 


“ What a splendid place for lessons !” cried the 
young doctor ; I should think they would sound 
like music here. And your friend Agnes comes 
too r 

“Oh yes, we have studied together ever since 
I can remember. Of course she doesn’t learn all 
that I do ; and she is younger, but she is a very 
good scholar, father says.” 

“ It must be pleasant for your father to have 
two such pupils. I would n’t mind being a boy 
again myself, to come to such a school.” 

“ I would rather have gone out to college, like 
other fellows,” thought Stanley to himself. But he 
was too proud to say it, 

“ Father likes to teach, and he is very fond of 
Agnes. In the summer time we almost always 
study out on the rocks, and come in here to re- 
cite.” 

, Doctor Will could not help smiling at this un- 
usual way of getting an education. But he had seen 
enough of Stanley already to know that there was 
nothing lacking, which a regular college course 
could have supplied. 

They went outside first on a pleasant piazza, 
and then to the rocks, which stood everywhere like 
strong barriers to the castle-like house. Doctor Will 
9 


66 


DOCTOR WILL. 


sprang gayly from rock to rock. He felt like a 
boy, and wished that this real boy by his side 
would talk more. He understood that Stanley had 
a sort of half-dislike for him, which seemed to make 
him impatient, and unwilling to speak. 

“lam no match for you, among these rocks,” 
he said, as he watched Stanley’s quick, easy move- 
ments. 

“I was born and brought up among them,” 
answered the lad. 

“Were you born here.^ Well, it is a grand 
place. It is n’t every one who can begin life so 
high up in the world. Has your friend Agnes 
always lived here, too T ^ 

“No; she came here when she was three or 
four years old. Her father and mother died, and 
she came to live with her aunt. I do n’t know 
what she will do when I go away.” 

Doctor Will smiled a little, and asked, “Are 
you going away And the question seemed to 
give Stanley an impulse to talk. 

“ Oh yes,” he answered ; “ father has promised 
that I shall go and see the world, when I have 
finished the regular course of study. And I sup- 
pose I shall go away this winter.” 

“ Will you go to Europe ?” 


DOCTOR WILL. 6/ 

“ Oh yes,” he answered confidently, with an 
eager, expectant light in his eyes. 

“ Well, then, if you come across a young fellow 
wandering about there with a laurel wreath on his 
head, you ’ll know it is my friend Arthur Sands ; 
and remember me to him.” 

The doctor said it in a half-laughing, half- 
thoughtful way, and Stanley wondered at him. 

“ It’s a grand thing to have an opportunity,” he 
went on to say, as they walked back to the house. 

Now, I consider that you and my friend Arthur 
have rare opportunities. How I should like to go 
to Europe, myself. I often think of it. But there 
is so much work to be done, I can’t get away. 
After all, I suppose that work may be an opportu- 
nity for every one. And it’s a pretty broad one, 
too.” 

Doctor Will had gone beyond the lad’s under- 
standing, but there was another who overheard, 
and thoroughly understood. Doctor Chester smiled 
as they came upon him suddenly, with his friend, 
at a turn in the path near the house. “Yes, yes, 
my boy, that is exactly what I was saying : ' Get 
leave to work! How did we come to be of the 
same mind T 

Then he laughed his hearty laugh ; a rare sound 


68 


DOCTOR WILL. 


among those old rocks. “ I do believe I have given 
that one prescription, more than any other, in the 
various ‘ cases ’ I have had, through my life. I sus- 
pect people often say to themselves, ‘ Here comes 
that old doctor with his talk about work! And 
now I find Will at it, too.” 

They all laughed. No one could help it, look- 
ing into his cheery, serene face, so full of calm 
assurance, as it was turned toward the sunset of 
life. 

“ Ah,” thought Doctor Will, if I can only get 
on with my work as bravely and as patiently as he 
has done.” And then he said, “ Well, sir, they 
couldn’t complain, for you always set them the 
example. Stanley and I were trying to decide 
which had the best of it. He is going to travel 
and I am going to plod on in my routine of work. 
But we conclude that each has his opportunity of 
some sort.” 

Right,” answered the old doctor, looking from 
one to the other of the young faces. Will’s, with 
all its knowledge of work and of the great world, 
was scarcely older than Stanley’s, because beneath 
it always he kept pure and fresh the true boy-heart. 

“ Going to travel, are you said the old doctor, 
turning to Stanley. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


69 


“Yes,” said Mr. Worthington, “the boy thinks 
there are things worth finding out in the world ; 
and I suppose I must let him go and discover his 
mistake.” 

The father’s sad and weary face was in strange 
contrast to the lad’s, bright with youth and hope. 

“Oh yes,” replied Dr. Chester cheerily, “let 
him go. Whatever he finds out will not hurt him, 
if he only starts on his journey with the strong 
armor of truth and purity on. It is good for young 
men to go into the battle ; but they must not go 
without weapons.” 

Stanley seemed a little puzzled; but the old 
gentleman’s kindly tone and look warmed his heart, 
and he smiled, as he raised his head proudly and 
said, “I’m not afraid, sir.” 

Doctor Will expressed his delight at the house 
and its surroundings, and asked permission of Mr. 
Worthington to bring a “bonny young lady” to see 
it some day. The grave gentleman seemed a little 
surprised, but replied, “ Certainly, if it would give 
her any pleasure.” 

“ It would, I know. And I always try to secure 
a pleasure for her, when I can ; for she ’s the bon- 
niest lady in a’ the land !” arid the young doctor 
looked happy as he went off. 


70 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ Pshaw !” said Stanley, as they passed out of 
sight ; “ I do n’t see anything wonderful in her.” 

“ Have you seen her ?” asked his father quietly ; 
and who is she V 

“Yes, sir. He brought her up to see Agnes. 
I ’m sure I do n’t know why. She is a friend of his 
sister, and ten years older than our Agnes, I 
should think. She can sing beautifully, though,” 
he added, as if he had just remembered it. But 
his father did not seem to care, and began to speak 
of Agnes and her studies. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


71 


IX. 

The soft summer days passed on, and everybody 
among the mountains gained something. Mrs. 
Greaves gained strength and health. So did many 
of the poor sick people down in the village ; and 
Doctor Will gained much esteem and affection. 
He did not lose either enjoyment or rest, although 
Dr. Chester said that he did all the work. 

The mountain rides and the bracing air were 
rest enough, after his close city work. And there 
was joy in the work itself, beside all the other pleas- 
ures, as there always is in work well done. 

Professor Klein gained many curious speci- 
mens,” with which the good Madame allowed him 
to fill up her trunk, to the horror of some of the 
young ladies, who wondered “ what he could want 
of all that stuff.” 

And they all, young and old, gained vigor and 
health and pleasant memories to help them when 
they went back to the realities and every-day du- 
ties of life after vacation. And each one who had 
listened to the teachings of Nature and to the wise 


72 


DOCTOR WILL. 


words of the Professor and his lady, gained some- 
thing to make life nobler and better. 

Jeannie paid the visit, as Dr. Will insisted that 
she should, to the “ hermit’s castle,” as he called it. 
And she was as pleased as he had supposed she 
would be, at the beauties of the house and its situ- 
ation. 

Lawrence Everett went with them ; but as he 
could not be induced to “ beard the lion in his den,” 
as he said, Jeannie and the doctor left him out on 
the rocks, amusing himself by making little sketches. 
After a long and pleasant call, the two friends re- 
turned, wondering to find him still there. But the 
sketch-book was not in use, and they heard sounds 
of an animated discussion, which made them both 
laugh merrily. 

Stanley was there, and he and Lawrence were 
rehearsing a famous dialogue in Greek. Stanley 
was excited. He was standing, and made eloquent 
gestures as he spoke. He looked like one of the 
old fabled heroes, so young and strong and hand- 
some, as he stood there repeating their grand words. 

Lawrence, ‘‘Lazy Lawrence,” as Jeannie whis- 
pered to the doctor, reclined on his elbow and 
“ talked back,” with a merry smile on his face, and 
his usual easy, undisturbed manner. 


0 



■ -Cft S^s*o?^ 









DOCTOR WILL. 


73 


Were they trying which could recite the better ? 
Certainly there was not much difference between 
them, as far as memory went; but for vigor and 
eloquence of word and action, Stanley was far 
superior. 

They did not see Jeannie and the doctor, who 
stood to listen a moment, until suddenly Stanley’s 
memory failed him at a certain point, and a gentle 
voice caught up the verse and followed it out. 

It was amusing to see the start of surprise from 
both young men. But while Lawrence laughed his 
gay laugh, and quietly picked up his sketch-book, 
Stanley gazed into Jeannie’s face with bewildered 
astonishment. 

Was it possible } Why, even Agnes could not 
do that. Doctor Will laughed at him ; and Law- 
rence exclaimed triumphantly, ‘‘There, did n’t I tell 
you that there was n’t another lady in the land could 
do what our bonny Jean can ? Wait till you hear 
her speak in three different languages at once, 
though.” 

“ O Lawrence !” exclaimed Jeannie reprovingly ; 
and Doctor Will could not help laughing at the 
new twinkle in Lawrence Everett’s eye. 

“ Fact. Have n’t I heard you say, ‘ O Lawrence, 
irrepressible boy !’ in one language ; while your 


74 


DOCTOR WILL. 


smile in another said, ^ I can’t help liking you a lit- 
tle bit, though;’ and your eyes in still another 
spoke, ‘ Come thou with me, and I will do thee 
good’ ?” 

“ Do n’t listen to his nonsense,” she said, smiling 
at Stanley’s perplexed face and half-annoyed look. 
“But isn’t that a grand old poem? You see, I 
never had any brothers or sisters, and time hung 
heavily on my hands, so I took to learning all sorts 
of things. I had a boy friend who used to help me 
too. I ’ll tell you about him some day.” She 
glanced up at the tall young doctor, who smiled as 
if he understood. 

“Now, if you will all stand still a few minutes, 
I ’ll sketch you,” said Lawrence, raising himself 
from his reclining posture, and taking up his pen- 
cil in a threatening manner. 

Stanley moved away, but turned back to say, 
“You ’ll own that you are beaten, I suppose.” 

Lawrence laughed merrily. “ We ’ll call it 
even,” he said, “you and 1. “But bonny Jean has 
carried off the palm from both of us.” With a sud- 
den impulse Stanley caught his hat from his head 
and made a profound obeisance to Jeannie. It was 
so unlike the lad, whose independence made him 
almost blunt at times, and it was so much in un- 


DOCTOR WILL, 


75 

conscious imitation of Lawrence Everett, that the 
three friends could scarcely help smiling. 

“ It seems to me such a pity for that boy to 
have been kept at home away from other boys all 
these years,” Jeannie said, as they turned to go ; 
and Stanley went, in a few bounding steps, from 
the rocks to the piazza of his father’s “ castle.” 

“ Well, he could n’t have had better instruction,” 
said Lawrence. “ Why, I am surprised more and 
more each lime I meet him. There is n’t a fellow 
in our class who can match him. So, bonny lady, 
I don’t see what advantage a course in outside 
school or college could have given him.” 

“Not any in just book-learning, Lawrence; but 
do n’t you see he wants the corners rubbed off } 
He is n’t used to the world in general ; he does n’t 
understand people ; and it hurts his pride and frets 
him. And now that he is determined to go out 
and see the world, I am afraid the sudden revela- 
tion of all things at once may dazzle him, and the 
many temptations overcome him. You see he is 
not ready for it. One gets the armor on piece by 
piece, as he finds day by day first one need and 
then another.” 

“That is very true, Jeannie, and no one has 
greater need than we poor fellows,” said Doctor Will. 


76 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ And lucky fellows they are who get the bonny 
Jean to care for them/’ exclaimed Lawrence. “ I 
don’t see why it is, Jeannie, that you always take 
such an interest in the worthless race of boys.” 

I should n’t, if they were a ‘ worthless race.’ 
It is just because they are of such grand worth, of 
such wonderful value in the world, that I want 
them to reach always to the best and highest of 
everything, and that I would do anything in my 
little way to help them. Oh, I think there is noth- 
ing in this world so grand as the work which God 
gives a good man to do.” 

And when he sets a good, true woman near us, 
to help us with her wise words, then we grow strong 
for our work.” 

Lawrence said it in a voice full of respect. It 
was unusual for him to speak so. He was always 
so ready with his light words, full of fun ; and only 
those who knew him well understood that there 
was a deep and thoughtful nature beneath. This 
young woman had always claimed his admiration 
and respect ; this pure, brave, bright woman, who 
never feared to set her face against what was wrong 
or low, who always dared to speak her word of warn- 
ing or of counsel, whose hand was always reached 
out to help the least or poorest. Many a gay girl 


DOCTOR WILD 


77 


had flashed across his path and smiled upon him 
with flattering words, who had not gained either 
the esteem or the thought which he gave to Jean- 
nie Macdonald. 

Girls, I think this is always so with the truest 
and best men. You may dazzle them for an hour 
with your beauty, or your dress, or your dashing 
ways ; but it is the quiet purity and truth and worth 
of a woman that win their lasting respect and care. 
Is not this so, my boys } Live up to it. Let your 
girl friends see that this is your standard. God 
means that you should help one another. He did 
not place you together in his world to be trifling 
or vain, or simply to enjoy one another, and find 
amusement in each other’s society. He wants you 
to be mutually helpful. Begin now. Girls, help 
the boys, by being virtuous, industrious, bright, and 
hopeful ; by frowning upon all that is not perfectly 
true and pure; by setting high standards which 
they must reach to attain your respect. Boys, help 
the girls, by being manly and correct ; by showing 
reverence for all womanhood ; by avoiding silly 
trifling ; by talking worthy and pure talk on high 
and helpful topics. 

If you, boys and girls, live so together, you will 
make a grand manhood and womanhood for the 


78 


DOCTOR WILL. 


world. Vanity and wrong and unfaithfulness will 
be blotted out by your truth and purity ; and you 
will be to each other the helpmeets which God 
means you to be. And remember that for you both 
Christ is the perfect Pattern, he the chief Corner- 
stone, in whom all the building of true manhood or 
womanhood, “ fitly framed together, groweth unto a 
holy temple in the Lord.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


79 


X. 

A CHANGE came o’er the spirit of my dream.’ 
Old things have passed away, and all things are 
new.” 

“Now, Everett, no nonsense, please. I am 
very glad to see you, but my time is precious ; 
and I want you to tell me all about what you have 
been doing.” 

“Just what everybody has been doing, except 
you and the bonny lady ; changes never affect you 
two, you’re always the same. I have been trying 
to turn musty, to accommodate myself to the law 
office I am in : and you must be the judge of how 
well I have succeeded, for you always found fault 
with me for being such a spirited animal. Was n’t 
it you } or was it some one else } I ’ve lost the 
track.” 

“You’ll always be a boy as long as you live, 
Everett. And I for one, shall not find fault with 
you only so that your animal spirits do not run 
away with you.” 

The young doctor took his friend by the shoul- 
ders, and looked squarely into, his face. Ah, what 


8o 


DOCTOR WILL. 


clear, pure, honest eyes those were to look into. 
All shining as they were with youth and gayety, 
there was no trace of shame or fear or deceit, as 
they looked bravely back into the doctor’s. 

I have looked into such eyes in the faces of 
some boys, and I think God has scarcely made 
anything better in this world to look into. It al- 
ways gives me a feeling, of gladness, as if I could 
see the honest, brave boy-soul behind the eyes. 

Lawrence smiled gravely. “ Do you think the 
animal spirits are getting the better of me T he 
asked. “ Examine me, medical man.” 

“ No, no, old boy, I ’ll trust you yet. But say, 
Everett,” and here the doctor’s voice changed, and 
he looked troubled, “ what is this about Sands } 
Have you heard 

“ Why, they say he is spending the old lady’s 
money as fast as those people across the water can 
get it away from him. They do say, too, that he 
is ' going to the bad ;’ but I do n’t believe that of 
Arthur.” 

The bright, boyish face clouded. He reached 
out his arms in a sudden, impulsive way, and ex- 
claimed, “ Why, Will, it must not be. I wont have 
it. He’s too good a fellow to be given up so. 
Pshaw ! what is our brotherhood worth, if we are 


DOCTOR WILD 


8i 


just going to sit down and remark to one another, 
like gossipy old men, ‘ I hear that so-and-so is get- 
ting very wild, and running through his aunt’s for- 
tune over there !’ I feel like bonny Jean, as if I 
must get over there, somehow, and do something !” 

'‘But, Everett, we can’t. You see we’re tied 
up here, unless ” — and he smiled as the door 
opened, and a white head looked in — “ unless we 
send Dr. Chester. Don’t be alarmed,” he added, 
as the old gentleman came to shake hands with 
Lawrence, “ it is Everett who is stamping about 
the office at such a rate ; but he is harmless as yet. 
I can’t say what he may do.’’ 

“ Excuse me. Dr. Chester, did I disturb you ? 
It is enough to make a fellow rave slightly. And 
I’ll tell you. Will, you remember that boy Stan- 
ley.?” 

“Yes ; and so does Dr. Chester.” 

“Well, you know he went to Europe. You 
remember how eager he was to ‘see the world,’ as 
he called it. And in his wanderings he came 
across our Arthur. Well, I think they are a pair, 
although the talk is that Arthur is leading the 
youngster astray.” 

“ Oh !” said Doctor Will, with a cry of pain. 

Ii And a sudden remembrance came to him of a little 


II 


82 


DOCTOR WILL. 


mountain girl, the life-long friend and companion 
of this lad, who was watching and waiting up there 
among the bleak hills for him to come back to her. 
And how would he come "i 

The old doctor took off his glasses, and went 
nearer to Lawrence, looking keenly into his face. 
“ Do you mean young Worthington, the son of my 
old friend 

Yes, sir; the youngster who used to spout 
Homer so grandly up there last summer.” 

The old gentleman made an impatient move- 
ment. “ Why did Worthington send the lad off 
alone ? Why did n’t he go with him 

Doctor Will laughed. “ Why, sir, he would n’t 
leave that castle of his for anything. I do n’t sup- 
pose that he could be induced in any way to take 
a trip across the ocean. He could n’t carry that 
library of his with him ; and something might hap- 
pen to it during his absence.” 

But what are half a dozen libraries in compar- 
ison with his boy } He ought to have gone and 
been a companion for him. Who ’s to keep a lad 
out of danger, if not his father } Bless me ! Why, 
the boy is n’t like his father. My Stanley never 
went a foot aside from the straight path.” 

It was Dr. Chester’s turn to be excited now, 


DOCTOR WILL. 


83 

and neither of the young men could help smiling, 
although both were sad enough over the news they 
had heard. 

*‘Will is always calm and cool,” Lawrence used 
to say. And it was very true. With all his boy- 
ishness, he kept a quiet, even way. Things did 
not excite him as they did his companions, although 
he enjoyed and felt quite as keenly as they did. 
He was very much in earnest. Life seemed a busy 
and real thing to him. He used to say that he 
began to look forward to his lifework one day 
when he was a little fellow sitting by the side of 
his invalid boy friend, Montgomery Meade, who 
had said to him, “ Be two doctors. Will, one for 
yourself, and one for me.” 

‘‘And being ‘two doctors,’ you see, I have to 
look at things in a serious light.” 

Just at this time, while young Everett was 
stamping about impatiently, threatening to over- 
turn things generally because of this piece of bad 
news, and the old doctor was rubbing his specta- 
cles, and wondering “why in the world people 
would do such very absurd things,” our Doctor 
Will was quietly planning what he could do to help 
matters. He was used to helping — this brave, 
calm, young doctor. Many, among people of all 


84 


DOCTOR WILL. 


classes — aged ones and little children — had looked 
to him with grateful eyes, calling him their good 
helper. To him, the one glad thought always was, 
‘‘ working with God !” Among the boyish things 
he remembered so well, was once when he had 
asked Dr. Chester what was the good of being a 
doctor, if those we love cannot be saved from dy- 
ing; and the old doctor had said to him, “It is so 
pleasant to work with God ! that is the good of 
being a doctor.” 

Sometimes now, when he was called for in the 
darkness of a dismal night, and walked along the 
desolate streets to some poor home, the thought was 
very cheering to him — “ working with God.” Did 
any of the sick and suffering ones whom he dealt 
with so tenderly and carefully, ever guess what the 
grand, simple motive was which lay back of all this 

Did either Lawrence or Dr. Chester guess what 
the thought was, stirring then in the strong young 
heart, behind the quiet manner and calm face } 

Surely with such willing hands as these reached 
out everywhere in eagerness, God’s good cause 
must prosper. 

It was a pleasant sight to look upon, these two 
young men, bright with the brightness of boyhood, 
strong with the strength of manhood, standing 


DOCTOR WILL. 


8S 

there, ready for the work. It is yours always, boys, 
your grand life opportunity, to stand at the right 
hand of the wise Master-builder, your hands help- 
ing his — placing and polishing for yourselves and 
for others the stones of the temple of a beautiful 
manhood. Do not fail ; do not falter ; do not let 
any flaw creep into the work. Keep high your 
purposes and your thoughts ; be like the builder of 
old who said, “ I am doing a great work, so that I 
cannot come down.” 

We will, in our places, help you. It is all in 
the plan. 

So thought Doctor Will that evening, as he 
locked his office door and turned his face home- 
ward. Where do you think he went first } 

Just where he used to go years before, when he 
was a little, light-haired boy, to mother’s room.” 
Was that strange, for a tall young man, who was 
looked up to and honored by many people .^ Ah, 
it was beautiful ! Never get beyond that, boys, 
and you will be sure never to get wrong. 

Mrs. Watkins was the same gentle-looking lady 
whom we used to know years ago ; but her hair 
had grown gray, and the hands which had wrought 
so lovingly for others were resting a little now. 
Her sons and daughter made life very pleasant and 


86 


DOCTOR WILL. 


easy to her. Frank was the “ man of business/’ 
and his father relied a great deal upon him. 

“ Frank does all the work,” Mr. Watkins would 
say sometimes, looking with satisfaction at his eld- 
est son, starting off early, with the zeal and punctu- 
ality which always accomplish something. 

“ It is my turn, father. Do n’t I remember the 
dark days, when you bore all the burden, and were 
so perplexed and worried } We youngsters thought 
it a terribly hard thing to leave the old house ; but 
whar did we know of the real trouble or anxiety in 
those days } If Maggie were here now, I could 
tease her considerably with recollections of how 
her pride suffered at that time, by having to live in 
a house with people tip stairs! 

“ That tip stairs was the best move upward that 
some of us ever made.” 

It was the younger son who used to add that. 
And it was the younger son, who in the same quiet 
way walked in and sat down by his mother, this 
evening of which we are telling, and said, “Mother, 
I want you to help us.” Well did he remember 
how his friend Jeannie had said of Stanley Worth- 
ington, “ He needs a mother.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


87 


XI. 

It makes a fellow lazy.” The soft, sweet 
light, flickering with the shadows of leaves, fell 
across the pages of his book. “ But, then, what is 
there to do ? If there were another college course 
now, or something of that sort — something to stir 
one up.” 

“ Exactly. I should say that was the very thing 
you needed.” From the other end of the light boat 
a face was suddenly turned towards the first speak- 
er, such a flushed, eager, boyish face — a handsome 
one, too ; and many a glance from gentle eyes restv 
ed upon it, as other boats glided past. “You are a 
lazy fellow, Arthur. Even when you have a book, 
you dream and dream over it. /couldn’t stand 
that. I must have things a little lively. And I ’ll 
agree to *stir you up’ to any extent you please. 
Are you going up to the villa to-night .?” 

His companion smiled ; an indolent smile it 
was, with no particular brightness back of it. I 
have seen such smiles on young men’s faces ; they 
are not good ; they always make me think of a se- 
rene spider sitting in the sun with his web. 


88 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Arthur’s next words were a good deal like the 
spider’s Will you walk in, Mr. Fly T* He said, 
There are several villas about here, my boy. 
Have you any particular one in your mind ?” 

“ Of course I have, and you know it. What ’s 
the use of being ridiculous 1 You ’ll go as quick as 
I will in the end, only you pretend to be indifferent 
about it. An angry flush crossed his face, and his 
impatient movements stirred the boat dangerously. 
But his companion only smiled on still, and leaned 
lazily on his elbow. Come, now, Worthington, 
don’t get excited. You shall have all the fun you 
want, only keep cool over it.” 

“ You would go floating along under these soft 
skies and in this lazy sunlight for ever, if some one 
did n’t put in an oar now and then to wake you up,” 
responded the boy, with a half-angry laugh. “/ 
want to see people. That ’s what I came for. And 
since you know so many — ” 

“Yes, yes,” said the young man, with a yawn, 
“ plenty of them ; and they Te all about alike, too. 
I do n’t see how you managed to live, my boy, in 
that skylight home you talk about. There cer- 
tainly was not a superabundance of people there, 
from all accounts.” 

“Well, I have dropped down from that height 


DOCTOR WILL. 89 

now, and I imagine it will be some time before I 
go back.” 

The boy knew he was not speaking the truth. 
It was only the old, foolish feeling, half shame and 
half vexation, because he had lived all his life away 
from the multitude of other boys. Perhaps he 
would not be in a hurry to go back. But certainly 
there was scarcely a day, among all the change and 
tumult of his present life, when he did not think of 
the mountain home he had left and of the true, life- 
long friends who were keeping place and love there 
for him. 

The young man watched his face, and for a mo- 
ment the smile died away, and he seemed a little 
troubled. ‘“Dropped from a height’ — why, upon 
my word, I believe you have, my boy. But it ’s 
your own fault. Nobody asked you. You will be 
such a youngster as to run in for a taste of every- 
thing you see. Bound to get your full share of the 
world. I can’t help it.” So he communed with 
himself. But I think his conscience was not quite 
easy as he looked at the eager face of the lad oppo- 
site him. 

They had met each other in this land far from 
home, and as they could talk of mutual friends, 
they kept company together. And Arthur Sands’ 


12 


90 


DOCTOR WILD 


greater knowledge of people and things in the 
world was pleasant to Stanley. It was a wonder- 
ful world to him. He was not prepared to leave 
anything unseen or untried. He was dazzled. And 
Arthur would often smile at the eager way. in which 
he entered into some new pastime, or made the ac- 
quaintance of new people. He did not stop to dis- 
criminate ; it was simply pleasure and people that he 
sought. And so he had, half unconsciously, fallen 
into bad company, and found his pleasures among 
people whose aims were not certainly pure and up- 
right. 

With Stanley it was all excitement and an eager 
desire for enjoyment. With Arthur it was simply 
a listless sailing along on the sunny waters in ease 
and comfort. 

Arthur’s parents were not living ; and his aunt, 
who was wealthy, had sent him abroad after he had 
completed his college course, because she consid- 
ered it the right thing to be done next. 

To some young men this might have been a 
great help before beginning the real life-work. But 
to Arthur Sands it was only so much added to the 
unreality of his life and thoughts. Steady, daily 
labor at a desk or in an office might have saved him 
from some sad errors into which he had fallen. So 


DOCTOR WILL. 


9 * 


that, after all, wealth is not so unqualified a bless- 
ing as some men consider it. 

When Arthur’s classmates had gone to the ves- 
sel to “ see him off,” several of them had wished 
they might have been as “ fortunate” as he, and had 
the same opportunity of going abroad. Their trav- 
els were limited to a few weeks among the moun- 
tains ; and then they began, each one, the work 
chosen for life — some in the professions, and some 
at business. 

Ah, boys, it is the work which helps to save you, 
which helps to saves us all, very often. That idle 
stream on which Arthur was floating may be very 
pleasant and sunshiny, but it is the strong battling 
with the waves, it is the rough winds and the salt 
spray of the “ blessed work ” which makes men of 
you. I am glad that God’s world has so much work 
in it to be done. I am glad that he wants so many 
workers, so many helpers. See to it that you find 
your own work, each one of you, that which is laid 
down for you by the Master’s hand, and that you 
do it cheerfully, faithfully, patiently; so that the 
boys whom we love, may grow to the men whom 
we shall respect and honor. 

After a few minutes’ half-impatient thought, 
called up by Arthur’s words about his mountain 


92 


DOCTOR WILL. 


home, Stanley exclaimed, “ Come, let ’s get back, if 
we are going out there this evening. They say that 

young Count V is to be there. Do you know 

him 

“Well,” answered Arthur, with his lazy smile, 
“ I have seen him. I do n’t think there is anything 
remarkable about him ; but the ladies seem to ad- 
mire him. He is good at winning money, I ’ve 
heard.” 

The lad’s face flushed quickly at the last words. 
He knew, at least, what that meant. 

And what about these people at the beautiful 
“villa” who received and entertained such visitors.^ 
Were they altogether such as the white-haired fa- 
ther and the pure-souled mountain girl might ap- 
prove ? Perhaps not. But — it was such a beautiful 
place ! and there was so much gayety and life, and 
such music ! Sometimes he wished that Agnes 
could hear the music, and hear it among the lights 
and the smiling faces, as he did. Surely she would 
be enchanted. The flowers, too. Did not she love 
flowers, the little rugged ones which lifted up their 
bright faces on the bleak mountain-side ? But what 
would she say to these, dazzling in color, bewilder- 
ing in perfume, and so plenty that people walked 
among them, brushing their wondrous petals, and 


DOCTOR WILL. 


93 


scarcely noticed them ! Ah, if little “ Pearl ” had 
been there ! “ Well, no matter.” 

He jerked the light boat impatiently in to her 
landing, and sprang out. 

Have you ever seen him win money T he asked 
suddenly, turning to his companion as they walked 
away together. 

Arthur smiled, and a little color crept into his 
face, a little that was left of the true boy-color, of 
which no man need ever be ashamed. 

‘‘ Seen him ? Well, now that you speak of it, I 
believe I have. One must see all there is to be 
seen, you know. We are sight-seers, you and 1.” 

The flush deepened on Stanley’s cheek, and he 
looked eager. Yes, they were sight-seers, and why 
should he not see and know all that Arthur did ? 
He walked so fast, as he thought, that Arthur said, 
laughing, “ My boy, do n’t race. There is plenty 
of time. We can’t go until the proper hour. Be- 
sides, I am hungry now ; and there ’s the mail, 
too.” 

Yes, there was the mail; and perhaps there 
would be in it, for each one, some white messenger 
from the far home, carrying tender thoughts and 
loving counsels, written words, which were truer 
and better than any ever spoken to them in this 


94 


DOCTOR WILL. 


strange land. Perhaps one of Doctor Will’s pleas- 
ant, hasty letters ; perhaps a line from Ray Fields ; 
or a lively harangue from Lawrence Everett. Per- 
haps a few words from the father on the mountain, 
enclosing a letter from Agnes ; or even a page of 
“ hieroglyphics,” as Arthur called them, from faith- 
ful old Professor Klein, who never forgot any boy 
whom he had once taught. 

Surely there were hands enough held out, true 
and pure and strong, to keep these two young men 
from falling. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


95 


XII. 

“Tell Stanley that it is a long time since he 
and I had a tussle at old Homer, and if he does n’t 
come home to do battle with me, I shall just take a 
trip up the mountain and try it with his friend, little 
Agnes.” 

Lawrence had “pshawed” over it, and called 
himself a “ bungler ” and sundry other depreciating 
names, but he “ could n’t do any better it “ was n’t 
in him.” And so he sent it ; and it went across 
the ocean to the two young wanderers. 

Arthur read it aloud, and watched, with his half 
smile, to see Stanley’s look of indignation. “ Why 
can’t they let us alone They all keep talking to a 
fellow about ' coming back.’ I mean to have my 
fun out. And besides — ” 

“Well,” said Arthur, in his undisturbed way, 
“ all right. I ’ll tell Everett to take his little trip 
up the mountain, then. You haven’t the least ob- 
jection.” 

“ I do n’t know why I should have,” Stanley 
replied, with the old, proud lifting of his head. 
“ He may go where he pleases. And he probably 


DOCTOR WILL. 


95 

will, for all that anybody says to the contrary. He 
always had impudence enough.” 

“ Come now, I wont hear anything against my 
old chum. Everett is a good fellow. A great tease 
he used to be, but we all liked him.” 

The young man drew a long breath, and looked 
again at the honest, free handwriting of his old 
college-mate. It was like himself, easy and bold, 
but very fair and good. “ Yes, yes, here is Law- 
rence all over again. I should like to see you, old 
boy; but somehow, I can’t exactly tell the use of 
my going home just yet.” 

“ Nor I. Since we have crossed the ocean, we 
may as well get the good of all there is on this side 
of it.” 

Ah, yes, if he had been only getting “the 
good.” But he had not the look of rest and con- 
tent which a seeking of good brings. 

Afar in the mountain-home a young girl often 
thought of him, and wondered if he were finding 
the “ warmth and light and color ” which he used to 
say he should get out in the world. She remem- 
bered well the day they had sat together on the 
hillside, and he had said this to her, tossing away 
the collection of stones with contemptuous regard, 
because they were “ only stones ” after all, and he 


DOCTOR WILL. 


97 


wanted to be among “the people and the lives” — 
the real things. 

“ He must be quite satisfied,” she thought, as 
she read his little hastily-written letters, telling of 
his days and nights of pleasure, and of the wonder- 
ful places and the delightful people he found. 

“ He will never come back here to live,” she 
used to say to her aunt, with a little look of sadness 
in her eyes. “And I cannot blame him much, 
either; it is dull and lonely up here. Only his 
father, I know, often misses him. I wish Stanley 
would think a little more about him, and write 
more to him.” 

“He can write very readily when he wants 
money,” replied Mrs. Greaves, in a tone of severity, 
for she was disappointed in this “brave, bright 
mountain lad,” as she had been used to call him. 

“ O dear ! I do n’t think that having money 
helps people one bit,” sighed Agnes, twisting the 
stems of the late mountain flowers, and wondering 
if Stanley ever would care to gather them again as 
he used to. 

“No,” replied her aunt slowly; “and yet I 
should like to be able to leave you a little when I 
go. I think you would know how to enjoy it wisely ; 
and that is what God meant people to do with it.” 

13 


gS 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ Now, auntie, please do n’t talk so. I shall just 
keep you ; and we wont worry about the money. 
But I do think that Stanley and his new friend over 
there would be better off if they had less money to 
spend and more work to keep them busy.” 

“ It would help to make men of them. Look at 
that young Doctor Will, as they used to call him. 
How boyish he was, and yet what a manr 

Agnes laughed. “You will always remember 
Doctor Will,” she said. “I liked him, too; but 
Stanley never seemed to. At any rate, he was very 
kind to you, and I wish he were here now to try his 
skill again.” 

But he was not; and the little shadow which 
had flitted across the mountain home grew larger 
and darker, and the sorrow in the girl’s heart grew 
. heavier. 

And even Doctor Will’s skill could not have 
availed, if he had been there; but he came too 
late. 

It was one bright, cold day, when the early win- 
ter had stripped the trees and made all the moun- 
tains bare and brown. It did not look like the 
green and sunny mountain which he had climbed 
more than a year before. He thought of the bright 
boyish face of Stanley Worthington, as he had first 


DOCTOR WILL. 


99 


seen it there on the hillside, and he wondered if 
that had changed too. 

Perhaps so. The wide ocean lay between them, 
and it seemed a long time since the lad’s face had 
brightened the mountain-home. 

All was. quiet around the little cottage,' and be- 
yond it the brown towers of Stanley’s home rose 
dark in the winter sunlight. 

“ How different it is,” thought Doctor Will, 
from the noise and bustle of the city.” He almost 
thought he should like to stay there and enjoy the 
rest and stillness. “ But then my work, my work !” 
he added, with a quick bound up the little path. 

His knock at the cottage-door brought Mima’s 
heavy footstep ; and just behind her, as she opened 
the door, stood Agnes, with a wondering face, for 
visitors were unusual at that time of the year, and 
Mr. Worthington always walked in without waiting. 

It was not the old Agnes as he remembered her. 
The light, girlish look had left her face, and there 
was a little shadow in the bright eyes. But she 
knew him instantly, and her smile of welcome was 
the same as before, as she exclaimed, “ Why, Doc- 
tor—” 

‘‘ Will r he said, smiling at her hesitation, for 
she had scarcely heard the other name during all 


lOO 


DOCTOR WILL, 


that summer he had spent there. “Yes, it is ‘Doc- 
tor Will’ yet. I get no credit for any added dignity. 
But you are not well, Miss Agnes ; you do not 
wear the mountain color.” 

She led the way in, and tears filled her eyes as 
she answered, “ I am well enough. It is auntie 
who is sick. How often I have wished for you.” 

“ Have you } I wish I had known it. It was a 
sudden impulse which brought me here to-day. I 
felt as if I wanted a breath of your mountain air. 
Besides, I wanted to see you and Mr. Worthington. 
What can I do for you now V 

“ Auntie has had a doctor from the village. He 
says that nothing can be done.” 

Doctor Will saw that himself as soon as he stood 
by the bedside of Mrs. Greaves. She could not 
speak, but she smiled faintly and tried to reach out 
her hand. His calm, cheerful tones sounded jDleas- 
ant, even when they knew there was no hope. 

“ It will be all right, you know,” he said, folding 
his strong young hands over the old and withered 
ones that were already cold with coming death. 

“Yes,” she tried to say, looking at him eagerly 
for a moment, and then closing her eyes in a satis- 
fied way. 

“I am glad that I am here even now,” he said 


DOCTOR WILL. 


lOI 


gently, as he and Agnes passed into the next room. 
“ Perhaps I can help you a little, if you will let me. 
Every friend counts in a time like this.” 

Oh yes, and I have so few. Even Mima has 
a home and relatives to go to ; but I have no one, 
when auntie is gone.” 

Her quiet grief was very sad to see, and he 
persuaded her to walk with him over to see Mr. 
Worthington, thinking that the cool air would do 
her good.’ How frail and pure she looked, wrapped 
in her dark cloak, and facing the strong mountain 
wind. 

“ Well,” thought the young doctor, as he watch- 
ed her, ‘‘ I would like to be the friend who should 
take care of you always ; but I suppose there are 
others who would claim a better right.” 

Yes, there were. For one, this white-haired old 
gentleman whom they were going to visit. He 
called her his “child” and “daughter” already; 
and his beautiful home and his fond heart were 
waiting for her even then. 


102 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XIII. 

‘‘Have you written to tell Stanley?” Doctor 
Will asked, hesitating a little, and watching her face 
closely. 

“ Oh, no. I did not think it would make any 
difference to him ; and besides, it is a good while 
since we heard from him. I think his father is 
anxious.” 

“ Our old friend Arthur keeps long silence too. 
But the two were together when we had the last 
news of them.” 

Agnes did not ask any more. She was too 
proud to question others about her own old friend 
and playmate, and at least for the present here was 
one friend near at hand and ready with help and 
sympathy ; so she set her face and heart resolutely 
to the present, that no thought of the past nor any 
fear for the future should hinder the work of the 
living day and hour. It is a good thing for girls — 
for any one, to learn to do. It is the God-given 
present duty, and the faithful doing of it, which 
saves us from many a temptation and fall. 

Mr. Worthington’s beautiful home was even 


DOCTOR WILL. 


103 


more delightful than when he had seen it before ; 
so Doctor Will thought as he saw the glow from 
the open fires lighting up all the sombre gran- 
deur. 

“Yes,” the old gentleman said, in answer to the 
young man’s words of praise, “ it is a comfortable 
and pleasant home.” 

Then he sighed, as if something were lacking ; 
and turning to Agnes, laid his hand upon her head. 
“Do you think this young lady could be happy 
here, with an old man like me T 

The bright color flashed into her cheeks. 

“You see she is a little proud. And her poor 
old teacher wants and needs her too.” 

Her lips trembled; but she nestled her head 
against his shoulder, and looked as if she would not 
refuse him what he asked. 

Doctor Will said all that he dared, in reply. 
And rapidly, there passed through his mind, a pic- 
ture of how it would be. He could see her light, 
active figure gracing the dark old rooms ; and her 
head bent over some of the great books in the 
library with the sunlight falling through the stained 
glass. Then he imagined young Stanley coming 
home, to find her there ; and the boy-and-girl 
friendship growing into a life-long love. 


104 


DOCTOR WILL, 


Well, and why should all this passing through 
the young doctor’s mind, leave a shadow there ? 
Surely he had no right to complain. He had only 
carried a pleasant memory of this mountain girl 
in his heart for a few months, with a strong desire 
to see her again. And now that he had gone there 
and found the trouble drawing near her, he would 
stay to help and comfort, because there were so 
few to do for her. He sent word to Dr. Chester ; 
and then waited, with his strong words and ready 
deeds, until the life flickered away. 

At such times the young physician always re- 
membered strongly Dr. Chester’s words, “ It is so 
pleasant to be allowed to work with God ! that is 
the good of being a doctor.” How often since 
Doctor Will had felt the truth of those words. 
And how solemn a thing life always seemed to him, 
when he had done all he could, and God only 
allowed him to stand side by side with Himself, 
while He called away the soul. “Thus far shalt 
thou go, and no farther, seemed always to sound in 
his ear. 

And yet, still more solemn, if possible, was it 
when, again side by side with the Giver of life, he 
stood, working with all his skill, and feeling that 
God had put some life-thread into his hands, and 


DOCTOR WILD 


I OS 

was watching how faithfully he would use his 
knowledge and power. Either way it was working 
together with God;” and that is what makes the 
grandeur of all work. 

It was only for a few days, but how much he 
seemed to learn in that time. He became well 
acquainted with old Mr. Worthington, and still 
better acquainted with the pure-hearted mountain 
girl, as he tried to be of use and comfort to her. 
He saw that she was rather opposed to Mr. Worth- 
ington’s plan, although she evidently loved her old 
teacher. And the young doctor often longed to 
say to her, “ Come home with me, then, and I will 
care for you, and show you many who will love 
you.” 

But he was wise and unselfish, this friend of 
ours ; and he was not sure of his time nor his right 
to say this to her. 

Agnes wanted to be independent, but she owed 
a great deal to this old gentleman, who had educa- 
ted and loved her as his own daughter. And could 
she not go to him, now, when he seemed so much 
to need her, in his lonely home ? 

“ Yes,” she said at last to Doctor Will, when all 
was over, I will go and stay with him for awhile 
at any rate, until Stanley comes home. He has 
14 . 


io6 


DOCTOR WILL. 


been so good to me always ; perhaps I can do some- 
thing for him now. I have often thought of a 
great many little tilings which would make his 
home brighter and pleasanter. And now that 
auntie is gone, I feel as if I wanted to have some- 
thing to do for somebody.” 

“ That is the true woman feeling,” said Doctor 
Will, half to himself. Then he turned toward her, 
and said cordially, “ I think you are right ; and I 
am sure that only good can follow wherever you go. 
I wish that Mr. Worthington would bring you down 
to the city sometimes, to see us all. There are many 
of us. Miss Agnes, who often think of you, and who 
would welcome you most gladly.” 

“ Thank you. It is very kind. But you know 
Mr. Worthington does not like the noise and crowd 
of city life. I do not think anything will ever take 
him from his mountain home ; unless indeed it 
should be Stanley,” she added, with a little change 
in her voice. 

But you will not forget us i*” he asked. It 
seemed so far from that still, pure height where 
she lived, down to the busy city where his path lay. 

“ Why, no,” she answered simply ; “ I never 
forget. And you have been so kind to me both 
times.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


107 

Both times ?” was it only twice, then, that he 
had been there ? It seemed as if he had known her 
always ; as if somehow she had needed him always, 
as if she would need him again. Perhaps so. At 
least he would be ready always. And he told her 
so, in his true-hearted, manly way, standing there 
on the calm mountain height, in its peace and pu- 
rity, as they were never to stand together again. 

This girl understood what it was to have a 
strong arm held out to her so. It was very beauti- 
ful. What should she do ? She would be careful, 
this true girl, that not the lightest touch of her 
finger should be laid upon the outstretched arm, 
except a blessing went with it. And so, she said, 
with her face full of light as the young man watched 
it eagerly, “ Thank you. 1 will not forget.” 


io8 


DOCTOR WILL, 


XIV. 

Thus he went away from her, down to his work 
with a brave heart, full of hope. He was, of course, 
questioned eagerly by many who remembered the 
young mountain girl, and who remembered also 
Mr. Worthington’s grand lonely home. “ But what 
in the world took you there, boy ? Did n’t you 
know that I myself was contemplating a raid upon 
the hermit’s castle 

“ Were you r replied the doctor, looking straight 
back into the clear eyes of Lawrence Everett. “Why 
did n’t you tell me ? I do n’t know exactly, but 
somehow Dr. Chester and I felt a desire to hear or 
see something of old Mr. Worthington. That boy 
you know, he ought to come home.” 

“ How patriarchal you have grown ! * That boy !’ 

It wont do. Will. He is a man of the world now. 
And if you are going to contend with him — ” 

“ Did the old gentleman talk much about Stan- 
ley interrupted Tom Gray, placing an emphatic 
hand on Lawrence’s shoulder. 

“ Not very much ; but I think he counts upon 
having him at home again before long.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


109 

“ And brightens up his cage with a pretty sing- 
ing-bird,” said the irrepressible Lawrence. 

I should hate to see the good old father disap- 
pointed, but the mountain maid is worthy of a bet- 
ter fate. Is n’t it so, doctor 

She is worthy of something very good,” an- 
swered the doctor simply. 

“You have my best wishes, old fellow,” said 
Ray Fields, seating himself on the arm of the doc- 
tor’s chair, and humming a line of a little German 
song. 

“Not Maud’s, probably, though,” said Frank 
Watkins, in an undertone. 

But amid all the banter and freedom of these 
young men, who sat talking by themselves in Doc- 
tor Will’s little office that evening, there was no 
nearer approach than that to anything which might 
not have been said in the presence of their mothers 
or sisters ; no light word of any girl ; and a certain 
fine restraint, even as they joked with the doctor 
about his visit to the mountains. 

It is rare to find such an atmosphere in the un- 
hindered discourse of young men ; and as J^eauti- 
ful as it is rare. With these friends of ours, it had 
been growing ever since their boyhood days ; kin- 
dled by wise mothers and good sisters, and fanned 


I lO 


DOCTOR WILL, 


by the pure breath of the friendship which had 
been formed in the room ‘‘up stairs.” 

It is a thing to judge a man by, his intercourse 
with other men. 

If girls could only know, that man to choose for 
friend or lover would be he whose words about 
women were delicate and true when only his fel- 
low men were by to hear. 

There is yet another thing : Doctor Will would 
never for a moment allow any least intimation that 
Maud Fields had shown any preference for him- 
self. What right had he to, suppose that because 
a girl was bright and glad and talkative in his 
presence, it was he whom she favored } 

Boys, note this wisdom of Doctor Will’s. And 
if the sky be full of stars, rejoice in their light, but 
do not imagine that they have sought you out to 
shine on ! 

Dr. Chester was delighted with Will’s bit of 
news. That his lonely old friend should have a 
daughter to brighten up his dim and stately home, 
seemed very pleasant to him. “ That is often the 
way in* this strange world of ours, a little sunlight 
creeps in at the end of a shadowy life, as if God 
had set a lamp to light our way down.” 

The old man mused, with his still keen eyes 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Ill 


watching the young doctor’s face. “ A true daugh- 
ter she will be to Worthington. And perhaps she 
will bring the wanderer home. Do you think so V 

“ It may be,” answered the young man quietly. 
And after a moment he added, with hearty honesty, 
“ I hope so, for his father’s sake.” 

“And if she does, I hope she will set him at 
some work ; if it be only to hunt over those hills 
for pretty stones. What does Worthington mean, 
by letting a fine fellow idle himself into ruin ! 
Stones! Yes; I’d put a pick in his hand, and 
have him hammer away, if he never found any- 
thing but bits of honest granite. If he hasn’t 
missed the jewel now, and lost himself among com- 
mon rocks, I’m much mistaken.” 

Will smiled quietly as the doctor grew excited, 
yet he agreed with all that the good man said. He 
knew very well that work is the strong staff, given 
for young lives to climb with. Was it not even 
now this which was helping him } Could he spare 
time even to think how his life wanted a certain bit 
of sunlight, which perhaps it might not get } “All 
things come round to him who will but wait,” he 
repeated to himself, as he ran up the steps of his 
sister’s home. 

And Jeannie Macdonald, who was there, said. 


1 12 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Why, Will, you have caught the joy of the hills, 
and brought it home in your face.” 

“ Have I That is good, bonny lady.” 

And he had many questions to answer for 
Jeannie and Maggie. Surely, there were many 
bright and pure links in this chain of friendship 
and sympathy. Did the lonely girl in her new 
home on the mountain know how strong it was, 
reaching out toward her } 

“And, Maggie,” said Jeannie, when the doctor’s 
short stay was over, “ there is a look in Will’s face 
that was never there before ; and it is n’t the glory 
of the mountains either.” 

“ If anybody in this world deserves to be hap- 
py, it is our Will,” answered Maggie. 

And the young doctor went on to his duties 
wearing the look of peace in his face, not knowing 
how these two women were wishing him all good, 
but resting with confidence in the love of Him 
who, he knew, could and would give him all that 
was truly good for him. 


DOCTOR WILL, 




XV. 

The stream of life ran on among these busy 
workers, and still the idlers lingered. 

Arthur Sands’ aunt, in her quiet home, won- 
dered why her nephew did not come back. She 
was sure she would do everything to make the 
house pleasant and lively for him. 

There was his father’s great library, and Arthur 
used to be so fond of the books. She wished for 
him. Perhaps, indeed, she had done too much in 
the days gone by. Some persons had called Ar- 
thur a spoiled boy.” But then he had been such 
a lover of books, and she thought that love would 
be a safeguard. She did not think that harm 
could come to him when she sent him away from 
her, with a full purse, to see the new world which 
is not found in any books. 

Now and then, an old college friend of Arthur’s 
would run in to see her, out of sympathy. And 
she loved to look at their hearty, happy faces, with 
the dawn of manhood upon them. Would her 
boy’s face look so, she wondered, when he came 
home } 


114 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Now and then a little letter would find its way 
across, to the waiting hearts, and they made the most 
of it. If it were Lawrence Everett who received 
it, he would flourish it in the air and exclaim, 
“ Health to the wanderers !” while his cheery words 
and hopeful ways comforted the anxious heart. 

If it were Doctor Will to whom the scanty 
message came, he would carry the “ drop of foreign 
tonic” around immediately, flavoring it with his 
own honest good wishes. 

And so, through all the little circle ran the 
electric current of sympathy and interest, which 
makes life so beautiful and good and Christlike. 
If all young people would learn this way, how 
much brighter and gladder their lives would be ! 
If they would get outside of self more \ if around 
and through all their own peculiar self-interests, 
ran this delicate golden thread of sympathy and 
care for other lives, how much larger would grow 
their natures, how much wider and nobler their 
ways and views. 

It had been taught these young friends of ours, 
long ago, by the purely unselfish life of a boy who 
had sat helpless “ up stairs,” day and night, thrust- 
ing aside the thought of his own suffering, and 
entering eagerly into the plans and joys of those 


DOCTOR WILL. 


IIS 

who were more favored with health and strength. 
His fingers had patiently wound the delicate chain, 
in and out, day by day, binding those dear lives 
more strongly than he lived to know. And he had 
caught it from the glory of the noblest human life 
that ever was lived, the life of One who “hath 
borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” 

I think those two. young men, with their idle 
days of riotous living, never guessed how strongly 
that unseen chain bound them to many hearts at 
home. Even Arthur, who had known and lived 
among them so long, scarcely realized what sympa- 
thy and care kept place in these hearts for him. 
And how should Stanley Worthington ever believe 
it ? he whose life had only touched theirs here and 
there, during that summer on the mountains } 

After all, they were taken by surprise, when a 
letter came from Arthur one day, saying, “ I sup- 
pose that Stanley is at hom.e by this time. He 
felt ‘irresistibly drawn,’ somehow. Perhaps he 
thinks that this new ‘daughter’ will usurp his 
rights. I advised him to share with her, and keep 
the peace. There seems to be no such innovation 
at my home, and so I float ‘ at my ease ’ still, like 
the ‘jolly jelly-fish’ which Ray Fields used to sing 
about.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


1 16 

“Yes,” said Ray Fields, as Lawrence folded the 
letter, and wondered if the “bonny Jean would 
care to know ” — “ yes ; that is Arthur, exactly. 
Floating is just his mark, no exertion. He proba- 
bly thinks he ’ll float into some beautiful port, by- 
and-by, and find all things ready to his hand. Be- 
ware of the seaweed, my boy. I wish he had an 
* innovation ’ at his house. Maud, I wonder if you 
could n’t manage it.” 

“ I do n’t think I could,” she answered carelessly, 
spreading her bright worsteds under the gaslight. 

“ Arthur is worth a little trouble, you know,” 
said Lawrence, with a vague smile, taking up a 
skein and holding it for her. “ I wish he would 
float into some pretty, peaceful harbor. Do you 
know, I often think of the wish he expressed on 
Commencement day, to ^ begin the course right 
over again.’ It seemed very ridiculous at the time, 
but I believe it wouldn’t have been such a bad 
thing, after all.” 

“ Pshaw ! That was just on the floating princi- 
ple, too. He knew the musty old books by heart, 
and so he would have liked to stay to dip in and 
out among them at his ease. Well, it was a safe 
sea, without the college walls ; but what an ambi- 
tion for a live man.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


117 


“ I wonder why he would n’t try for a professor- 
ship. It would be just the thing for him.” 

“Yes, if he could suddenly find himself there, 
waking up some fine morning in a professor’s chair. 
But, you see, the tutor’s ladder comes first, and Ar- 
thur would have to step boldly, instead of float- 
ing.” 

“ I believe I ’ll talk with Professor Klein about 
it, at any rate,” said Lawrence, with a new hope. 

“ But how absurd !” said Maud ; “ there is no 
need of Arthur’s working like that. Why should, 
he not enjoy his money ? Lizzie Meade says that 
there is only one thing that will set Arthur right, 
and that is for his aunt to lose her fortune. But I 
do n’t agree with her.” 

“ It is a pretty hard way to get straightened out,” 
said Ray, laughing ; “ but I do n’t know ; a little of 
the roughness and grime of honest labor would n’t 
hurt Arthur’s dainty hands.” 

“ Well, let us hope for the best, and not let him 
slip away from us. I ’m going right off to dig up 
the Fossil !” 

While Ray Fields followed his old classmate out, 
humming the song of the “Jolly jelly-fish,” Maud 
fingered her pretty balls thoughtfully, wondering 
how the little mountain girl had received her hand- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


1 18 

some companion on his return, and what would 
come of it all. 

“A man’s life is so much more easy,” she said, 
with a little frown upon her pretty forehead. He 
has all the power in his hands, and can go on and 
do just what he pleases. But girls have to sit still 
and wait and think and do nothing.” 

The voices of the young men at the door, their 
laughter, and the hearty way in which each took up 
his present work, seemed to irritate her. 

Ah no, Maud. Is not the pretty symbol of your 
woman’s work lying there under the gaslight } Are 
not the fair colors of life to be woven by womanly 
hands with patience and care, and all kept' smooth 
and beautiful ? Is not this a great and noble work ? 
Are there any other hands but womanly hands that 
can do it } Keep the pattern clear, and fail not ever 
with your threads of brightness, day or night, as the 
ceaseless wheel turns on. Let nothing tangle or 
soil, and mark well what a beautiful work the Mas- 
ter has set for you to do. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


119 


XVI. 

Yes, he had come home ! Quite unexpectedly, 
one day, without a word of message, he Appeared. 
And “ What a horridly quiet old place it is !” he ex- 
claimed to himself, as he passed in unhindered and 
noted the familiar, darkened rooms. 

He stopped in the doorway of the library, and 
his face changed with a sudden, glad smile, as he 
saw Agnes seated under one of the windows, with 
the colored light touching her bended head as she 
read. Certainly this young man had seen nothing 
quite so peaceful and pleasant in all his wanderings 
over wonderful foreign lands. It sent a glad thrill 
through all his tired and fretted being. 

But he broke up the pretty picture in his impet- 
uous way. “ Not a word of welcome for a fellow, I 
suppose. And poring over the same old book yet, 
I declare.” 

“ Why, Stanley !” she exclaimed, and her face 
lighted up with glad surprise. But she closed her 
big book quietly and laid it down, while he crossed 
the room, coming towards her. 

“Now the girls over therel' he thought to him- 


20 


DOCTOR WILL. 


self, “ would have dropped the book and run across 
the room, clapping their pretty hands, and saying 
something !” 

Well, this calm mountain girl said something, 
too, but she said it quietly in her sweet, low voice. 
“ I am so glad you have come back ! Have you 
seen your father ?” 

“No,” he answered, half impatiently, holding 
both of her hands ; “ I am seeing you now. Is n’t 
that enough T 

“ Of course not. Let us find him right away. 
He will be so glad.” 

She led the way out of the room and through 
the hall, glancing everywhere eagerly. “He went 
out to walk, I think. Come, I know where he will 
go.” She ran out, and was soon springing from 
rock to rock with quick, light steps. 

“At least, not every girl could do that,” he 
thought, as he tried to keep at her side, feeling half 
vexed at her all the while. 

“ There he is,” she said, after a few moments, 
and waved her handkerchief towards the stately 
figure standing a little distance off. 

“ Ah, yes.” And the young man noted, as he 
went forward to meet his father, how white his hair 
had grown, though his form was yet unbent and 


DOCTOR WILL. 


121 


his step on the rocky path firm and strong. Ag- 
nes’ heart was glad, as she saw the light on the 
father’s face. But a sudden flush passed over her 
own as the old gentleman drew her to his side, and 
said, “Here is our daughter, Stanley. We had 
hard work to get her, but the prize was worth win- 
ning.” 

“ I thought I could stay and take care of your 
father, at least until you came back,” she said, look- 
ing at Stanley, and not knowing exactly what to say, 
feeling embarrassed between her wish to please Mr. 
Worthington and her own spirit of independence. 

“ We greet her on bended knee,” Stanley said, 
stopping suddenly, and kneeling to kiss her hand 
lightly. 

“ Now please, Stanley, do n’t be a foreigner ; be 
your own .old self,” she cried, apparently not im- 
pressed at all by his act of gallantry. 

He laughed at her plain, straightforward words. 
“At least, are not changed,” he said, “my sim- 
ple mountain girl. But wait until you see what 
pretty things I have brought you from over the 
water.” 

Then he noticed, for the first time, what she 
wore at her throat. “Why, you wear the 'eme- 
rald ’ yet, do n’t you ! It was a pretty enough set- 
16 


122 


DOCTOR WILL. 


ting; but you must wear something better than 
that." 

Was he going to say what she must or must not 
wear } Well, she had always agreed with him in 
the olden days. Had she changed ? 

“ This is quite pretty enough ; and I like it for 
old associations," she said. “A mountain maid 
should wear mountain jewels, you know." 

His thoughts went back, as she spoke, to the 
day when he had found this and brought it to her. 
He remembered it all so well. The glad, boyish 
days were so peaceful to look back upon, after all 
he had enjoyed since in the wide wilderness world. 

“Ah well, wait till you see," he said confidently. 
And then he wondered how long it would take his 
baggage to find its way “into this heathen coun- 
try.” 

“ Has that young fellow been up here .^" he 
asked suddenly, turning to Agnes as they sat on 
the piazza, and the sweet air of early summer stir- 
red the leaves. 

“ I do n’t know whom you mean," she answered 
quietly. And old Mr. Worthington smiled to him- 
self. He was glad. He liked the tone of Stanley’s 
question. If, to keep away any other “ fellow," this 
boy of his would stay there, he should be very glad. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


123 


‘‘ Why, that young Everett. He wrote to Ar- 
thur that he was coming.” 

‘‘ I have not seen him,” she answered, after paus- 
ing a moment to think whether this friend of her 
childhood had any right to question her so. “ Doc- 
tor Will was here, you know, when auntie died. I 
think he spoke of Mr. Everett, but I am not sure.” 

“Yes; and you have taken to calling him by 
that absurd name, too. Is he as impudent as ever!*” 

“ He was very kind to us, and very thoughtful,” 
she answered, a little indignantly. 

“ Of course. Well, I suppose I shall see him 
before long, for I promised Sands to go down and 
have a look at his friends ; and they are generally 
found by twos and threes, I believe. How awfully 
quiet it is here !” he added, moving about impatient- 
ly. “ Even the servants seem to be impressed with 
solemnity.” 

“ That is only because you have been living so 
long in the midst of bustle and change,” said his 
father. “ But we will have all the life you want. 
Get your friends to come and stay ; and I have no 
doubt that you and Agnes can make it very pleas- 
ant for them.” 

Agnes said nothing. Had he come home to be 
entertained and amused, this boy on the threshold 


124 


DOCTOR WILL, 


of manhood, with all life and its high purposes be- 
fore him ? At least, she had seen young men who 
were above that. But she would wait awhile, and 
be patient. 

That evening, when he brought out his beauti- 
ful presents, she disappointed him by refusing to 
accept them. You must scatter them about among 
your friends,” she said ; “ and I will only have one, 
as a remembrance of your journeyings.” 

“ It shall be this, then,” he said, taking up a 
beautiful ring that sparkled wondrously in the lamp- 
light. 

“ No ; it shall be this,” she answered, and chose 
a little cross of pearls. 

He looked disappointed, though he smiled. My 
‘ Pearl of the mountains’ is very proud,” he said, 
with a sadness in his voice. And he put away the 
glittering ring in a half-ashamed, boyish manner, 
which pleased her more than anything he had done 
or said before. 


DOCTOR WILL, 


125 


XVII. 

There had been a quiet little wedding that 
spring-time among our young friends. And “ Mad- 
am Maggie,” whose few years of married life had 
earned for her this title, proposed that they should 
make a sort of wedding-party in the early summer 
and go to the mountains again. 

Tom Gray, who was the “happy man,” and who 
had gained for himself a treasure in our old friend 
Lizzie Meade, agreed readily to Maggie’s proposal. 

“ And this time ‘ the proudest lady in the land ’ 
shall go, too,” he said, bending respectfully over a 
sweet-faced woman with gray hair. And as he 
quoted Montgomery Meade’s words, he resolved in 
his heart that, as far as was possible, he would be 
to this proud and gentle lady all that her own son 
would have been had he lived. 

And Mrs. Meade, looking into his happy, man- 
ly face, felt very glad that her new son was one who 
had known and loved her own boy “ Monty.” 

There had been a thought of “ Monty ” in each 
heart all through the preparations and the simple 
wedding ceremony. Indeed, how could he ever be 


126 


DOCTOR WILL. 


forgotten whose brave spirit had taught them all 
such happy life-lessons ? 

Jeannie M*acdonald had come in her old way, 
bringing her offerings of flowers from her country 
home. 

“And who can say that the bonny Jean is a 
year older?” said Frank Watkins, recalling the 
days when she used to bring them in just so for 
Monty. 

Yes, purity of heart and strength of purpose 
will keep the true “ bloom of youth ” for any wom- 
an. Yet Jeannie’s friends of her own age were 
becoming married women ; and her mother, in her 
beautiful home, longed for an opportunity to make 
a “ splendid wedding,” and felt impatient that the 
girl herself had so little thought of it. 

Old Duncan, very gray and very feeble, but de- 
lighting in his flowers and fruit as much as ever, had 
his share too in the flower-giving for Lizzie’s wed- 
ding. From his very choicest treasures he cut 
freely, and Jeannie smiled to see his stiff, trembling 
fingers managing the tender flowers so deftly. 

“Oh, they are easy enough to manage, if you 
only love them, miss,” he said, looking proudly on 
one side and on the other at his beautiful arrange- 
ment. “They do just what you want them to.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


127 


Your lessons in training will enable me to be 
a successful school-teacher some day, Duncan,” 
Jeannie answered, smiling and wondering how 
many times she had heard the old man say the 
very same thing. 

“Yes, yes, flowers and children, it’s pretty 
much the same.” 

Then, musing for a minute over a bit of dainty 
trailing vine, he added, “ Do you mind the time we 
fixed the flowers for the bonny lad sitting there 
with such a white face, and his big eyes shining 
with pleasure .?” 

“ Yes, indeed, Duncan. And you taught him to 
love them and train them too. How happy he 
used to look, sitting there in his window, surround- 
ed by vines and flowers. Did I ever show you the 
little sketch which Miss Laura Gray made of Monty 
and the flower-window } She did it in fun one day 
when we were all there. But it was so good that 
we have persuaded her to copy it now and color it, 
and given it to Lizzie for a wedding present.” 

“ Ah, but it will make Miss Lizzie sad ; and on 
her wedding-day, too !” 

“ Well, it is to be hung on the wall of her room 
in her new home, and she will not see it until she 
goes there. But you know it will be the kind of 


128 


DOCTOR WILL. 


sadness we all have in remembering Monty — z. sad- 
ness for ourselves, just because we miss him so even 
yet ; but a gladness in thinking how he has been 
happy and free from pain all these years. Besides, 
Duncan,” she added, with a smile, “all girls are sad 
on their wedding-day, are they not ?” 

“ Are they, miss T said the old man, pretending 
not to know anything about it. 

“ Yes, indeed. So please do n’t tend any orange- 
blossoms for me. Keep them for me to distribute 
among my friends.” 

The old man laughed and looked after her with 
fond eyes, as she caught up her “ plaid ” and went 
out of the hothouse, picking her way daintily among 
his beds of hyacinths. 

Certainly there were more eyes wet with sud- 
den tears than those of the new wife when at the 
little gathering in Lizzie Gray’s new home the pic- 
ture made its pleasant surprise. How it recalled 
to many hearts the old, glad days, when boys and 
girls used to gather in that pleasant room “up 
stairs,” where Monty used to sit among his flowers, 
and planned for all, in his cheerful, brave, self-for- 
getful way. 

“ ‘ Rest is not quitting the busy career ; 

Rest is the fitting of self to its sphere.’ ” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


129 


Doctor Will said it softly to himself as he stood be- 
fore the little picture. That was Monty’s motto. 
He could recall just the lad’s look and tone as he 
used to repeat it. 

“ It is very true ; but how did Monty ever find 
it out, when he was only a boy 

There was a new look in Doctor Will’s eyes, not 
quite the old care-free, boyish look, which perhaps 
no one noticed except the white-haired lady who 
went and stood beside him as he repeated the 
verse. 

“Do you know that I suggested to Laura to 
put the motto here ?” she said. 

“Why, so it is,” he exclaimed, with glad sur- 
prise, looking under the picture. “I did not see 
that, I was so taken up with the picture itself. So 
you had a hand in it too, mother.” 

“ It was Monty’s motto, you know, and the pic- 
ture did not seem complete without it. Then, too, 
I thought it very appropriate — the last line — for a 
marriage motto. I must tell Lizzie.” 

“ Why, Mrs. Watkins, how you take the romance 
out of one. Getting fitted to the sphere of married 
life ! Why, I thought the popular idea was that 
one just sailed into it on beautiful waves, with the 
breezes blowing and the sunlight sparkling, and 

17 


130 


D0C20R WILL. 


music to every motion. Your motto would suggest 
corners and angles.” 

“And corners and angles there are, notwith- 
standing the popular idea, which is just such as you 
suppose. It is this very popular but mistaken idea 
which leads so many pretty barks to shipwreck ere 
they have sailed far on the beautiful waves.” 

“ Come, girls, mother is going to give us a little 
lecture on matrimony,” said Madam Maggie. 

And Madam Maggie’s husband, leaning over 
Mrs. Watkins’ chair, added, “ If several years’ expe- 
rience with her daughter can afford any proof, I 
think I can say that she has delivered that lecture 
before.” He said it laughingly, but in his eyes 
there was a look of tender respect as he glanced 
across at his wife. 

“ Well, if a ‘ word in season ’ can save any trou- 
ble, I will gladly speak it to any of you,” said Mrs. 
Watkins, smiling at the young faces which had 
gathered about her. 

“ You see I know. It is so much better to look 
at things in the right light. It need not take away 
the romance of marriage for each one of the inter- 
ested parties to remember that love, however true 
and tender, cannot change the whole human na- 
ture, and that when two lives would join and min- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


gle fairly, there must be with each a careful regard 
for the peculiarities of the other. ‘ Corners and 
angles ’ can be made to fit, you know, and a beauti- 
ful structure to follow. Then again, a married life 
is a new life, with many of the old, long-familiar 
ways and habits left out. It is a new sphere — a 
sphere to be filled out and not overstepped, and one 
has to fit one’s self to it, or it will not be one of 
‘rest’ and content. Why, to my mind there is 
more real romance in the loving fitting of yourself 
to the nature and needs of the man you have mar- 
ried, or the woman you have married, than there is 
in all the pretty talk of orange-blossoms and ‘ honey- 
moons,’ and the fanciful ideas of early wedded 
bliss.” 

“Mother is right,” said Maggie emphatically. 
For which they all laughed at her merrily ; and 
Frank offered to take care of the baby if she would 
“ take the platform.” Pretty Maud Fields, standing 
under the gaslight, shrugged her shoulders, and 
thought she would not like such talk if she were a 
bride. 

But Lizzie said, “ Thank you, Mrs. Watkins. I 
will remember.” It was not the first wise lesson 
that Mrs. Watkins had helped her to learn. 


132 


DOCTOR WILL, 


XVIII. 

But Madam Maggie’s plan for the summer 
party was not carried out quite to her mind. All 
those who had gone before did not find it as easy to 
get away this time. Life’s duties had become more 
settled and serious, and each day’s work seemed so 
marked out that it was not quite convenient to -say, 
“ Let us take a vacation.” 

Maggie’s brother Will was the first one to de- 
clare that he must be “counted out.” 

And then, as Dr. Chester said he was “ too old 
to climb mountains any more,” they could not tell 
whether it was Will who was staying to keep the 
old doctor company, or Dr. Chester staying to be 
with Will. 

“ At all events, you can’t separate them,” said 
Lawrence Everett. “ They are like the big chest- 
nut and the little chestnut in the burr — they stick 
together; and you had better let them alone, if you 
do n’t want your fingers pricked.” 

“What an absurd comparison. Everett, you 
need a change of air. Your ideas are becoming 
very cramped and musty.” 


DOCTOR WILL, 


133 


“ I know it, Ray, I know it. But what can a 
poor fellow do ? Trust me for getting away for a 
few days, if I possibly can. I would so like a breath 
of those mountain breezes, and a bit of classic talk 
with that young Worthington. But I do n’t know. 
At any rate, there is the ‘case’ which Professor 
Klein and I have undertaken. I must see that 
through.” 

“ I don’t believe the College Faculty will thank 
you any for your pains,” said Ray. 

“ No ; but then it is n’t thanks that we are work- 
ing for, you see.” 

No, it was not for thanks, nor for any reward, 
except the pure joy of reaching a helping hand to 
one who could not steady himself. 

“Well, if you suppose that Arthur Sands will 
come and sit down, with a fortune in his hands, to 
tutor college boys, I think you will be disappointed.” 

“Don’t discourage them, Frank,” said Maggie. 
“You see it is Arthur’s love of study which is to 
be the moving power. What he enjoyed so much 
himself he ought to take pleasure in imparting to 
others. And once get him on the right track, and 
there is all the honor of a professorship or a presi- 
dency before him. For such a work I shall not 
complain if my party is diminished somewhat. 


134 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ The bonny lady will go. She has done all she 
can, and if the wise heads do n’t further our plan, it 
will not be for want of pretty pleading. Now I 
could n’t resist Jeannie myself, were I the grimmest 
old fossil that ever lived on a diet of dead lan- 
guages.” 

With which somewhat mixed metaphor Law- 
rence retired, amid a burst of laughter. 

And “ Madam Maggie ” had to be content with 
such a party as she could gather, leaving out the 
busy workers, who caught so much joy and bless- 
ing from their work itself, that they felt less need 
of a vacation. 

‘‘You must go up and see our little mountain 
girl, Jeannie,” said Doctor Will, as he waved his 
good-by to the travellers. 

And so Jeannie did. And very helpful and 
very true did this young woman prove herself to 
the girl up there, who had been left so alone, just 
on the threshold of life’s mystery. So true and so 
helpful, that later, when the darker shadow came, 
she could feel her right to go and stand within it, 
and reach out to either side her comfort and coun- 
sel. For by-and-by came this news in her letter to 
Doctor Will. “ Such a sad thing has happened ! 
Mr. Worthington has lost his new daughter. Agnes 


DOCTOR WILL. 


I3S 

has gone away ‘ because it is better to be indepen- 
dent/ she says. Her education has fitted her to 
take care of herself ; yet no one knows where she 
has gone. I think, indeed I know, that young 
Stanley is the cause of this. He is so restless and 
wild. Sometimes he goes away, and is gone for 
days ; and I think he does not come back in a 
very satisfactory state. He has such fierce foreign 
ways, that I believe he has frightened Agnes, al- 
though he certainly is very fond of her. Now, Will, 
‘ be two doctors !’ Help me find this poor girl. 
For if we can find her, I think I can persuade 
her that I want her, with a real want, in my own 
house. Let her do her work ; but let her come 
and be among us, and be cared for.” 

Had she forgotten the other part of her work — 
she who seemed never to forget or neglect any- 
thing } At least, this was part of the answer that 
went back from the depths of the young doctor’s 
heart : “ We shall find her, Jeannie, I am sure of 
it. And meanwhile, bonny lady, will you set your- 
self to help that lad, as you helped others long 
ago ? We must not leave him out ; he is worth 
helping. And if he cares for her — oh, my bonny 
Jean, the threads are so tangled! But we’ll work 
patiently.” 


136 


DOCTOR WILL. 


Did she not know — this woman, with her clear 
insight — she who had been Will’s friend and helper 
ever since he was nine years old ? Yes ; she knew. 
And because she knew, she would not fail to stand 
by his side in this troubled hour, and help him 
undo the tangled threads.” 

And both of them, in the darkness and per- 
plexity, knew where to turn for sure comfort and 
deep peace. Back of the day by day life-battle of 
each of these young people, stood the strong fortress 
of their trust in God. Here they carried all things, 
small and great. Here were all their joys bright- 
ened and deepened, and here burned the ceaseless 
light for their cloudy and dark days. So now, 
when Doctor Will said, “We’ll work patiently,” 
and when Jeannie said, “Be Hwo doctors,’” and 
“ Help me,” in each heart there was a thought of 
God, and an unspoken prayer. 

Her work was most difficult, most delicate. She 
could not go to Stanley, and say, “ It is you who 
have driven her away. If you had been a strong, 
true man, you might have kept her.” 

She could not tell this young man that he was 
going all wrong ; that the highway glare had daz- 
zled him, that he was weak and yielded to temp- 
tation, that he was not living up to the best that 


DOCTOR WILD 


137 


was in him ; that his higher nature was dethroned 
and clouded. She could only watch and wait for 
her “ word in season setting her light of hope 
and cheer where he could always see it ; and 
letting him find, after his stumbling in the dark- 
ness and the foul atmosphere, the pure breath of 
her own little circle. It was not much. It seemed 
like nothing at all. And she was very glad indeed 
when, at the close of their visit, old Mr. Worthing- 
ton said as she bade him “ Good-by,” “ I think we 
must come down this winter. Stanley wants the 
life and bustle of the city. And I will write to 
Chester to find rooms for us.” 

Oh, will you ? I am so glad ! I think it will 
be so pleasant for you, and Stanley too. Then you 
can keep this lovely home just for summer-time. 
It will seem more beautiful than ever. We shall 
all be glad to have you among us. You see, we 
claim you as our friend through Dr. Chester. And 
will not you and he have cosey times together, talk> 
ing over your old school-days !” 


DOCTOR WILL, 


138 


XIX. 

“ Such a ridiculous thing, Everett, for you fel- 
lows to bring a man home for ! What in the world 
do you suppose I want with teaching Greek to 
blundering students T 

The young man stretched himself lazily upon 
his luxurious lounge, and looked very provokingly 
ungrateful. 

Lawrence smothered his indignation and an- 
swered calmly, “ Because, old boy, we thought you 
were just the one to do it. A man who ‘took to’ 
Greek as a fish does to water, is certainly the one 
to show other poor fellows the way. Then, the 
compliment, Arthur ! you do n’t seem to notice 
that." 

“Pshaw! Now see here, Everett, I want to 
know just what you’re up to.’’ 

Lawrence walked up and down the room, then 
he stopped in front of his old classmate and, look- 
ing him full in the face, answered slowly and firm- 
ly, “ I will tell you, Arthur. You are getting away 
from us: and we don’t want to lose you. We want 
you among us, as one of us. And we are all at 


DOCTOR WILL, 


139 


work, you see. We look forward to meeting one 
another and comparing notes, and relating experi- 
ences, and enjoying a bit of rest together in an 
evening, with real delight. Now, old fellow, we 
want you to get to work, too. Keep still now, and 
let me have my say. A man does n’t work just to 
get dollars and cents. That is the lowest need of 
all. There is a higher need ; and that need is 
yours, my boy; the need of something to keep 
your steps steady, to keep your mind interested, 
and your life fair and honorable. There is no man 
so rich as to escape these needs. And the fellow 
who sits down and folds his arms, just because he 
has plenty of money in his pocket, is sure to come 
to grief soon or late. And Arthur, my boy, we 
do n’t want you to get there.” 

The young man turned uneasily, and did not 
look back into the clear, frank face that was above 
him. 

“You fellows have got it into your heads that 
a man is wrong just because he eats and drinks 
and has a good time generally.” 

It was a poor, paltry answer to his friend’s 
grave appeal, and he knew it. 

Lawrence looked down sadly at the face which 
had changed much since he had last seen it. The 


140 


DOCTOR WILL. 


clear-cut features, which used to bend so devotedly 
over the college books, had grown coarse, and the 
face had lost its refinement. No hard work had 
done this. Work done in the spirit of obedience 
to Him who appoints it purifies and elevates; 
it leaves a halo, not a blot, upon the true work- 
man. No mark of toil was here ; only the sad 
record of idleness and dissipation. 

“Yes, Arthur, a man is wrong, just because he 
eats and drinks and has a good time generally, and 
lets his life slip by on such a thread as that. Is 
that all a man is made for } Is that your glorious 
end and aim } O Sardanapalus ! how thou hast 
fallen from thy high estate !” 

Lawrence tried to speak lightly, but Arthur 
recognized perfectly the glow of contempt which 
flashed from his clear eyes. His own cheek flushed 
hotly. What was this he had come to ? Had he 
been the valedictorian of his class ? and had it 
been his words which had urged them all on to 
high and noble deeds ? Surely, they had now left 
him far behind in the race. 

He gave a little, pitiful laugh. “ Well, I think 
you had better ‘ let Ephraim alone.’ ” 

“ Indeed, that is exactly what we will not do,” 
cried Lawrence, catching a gleam of hope. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


141 

Standing over his friend, he placed two strong 
hands upon his shoulders, ‘^No! he shall not be 
‘joined to his idols/ We will pile up the classics 
between him and them, until they become a strong 
wall, beautiful and grand, which he shall have 
neither ambition nor power to leap over. Why, 
Arthur, boy, we’ll have you such a bona-fide pro- 
fessor, some day, that you wont know whether 
your coat is out at the elbows or not. And you 
will look as wise and as serenely fossilized as Pro- 
fessor Klein himself. And we will keep the biggest 
armchair in our circle for your classic repose, and 
the bonny lady will smile upon you, and set you 
on a level with her sweetness and purity — than 
which, no man could get higher. Come, go with 
me to-night, and accept the offer.” 

But the young man would not go that night. 
For an hour more he and his friend talked together. 
Perhaps there was no one except Lawrence Ever- 
ett who could have talked to him so. At last, 
when he went away Arthur had said, “ I will decide 
to-morrow. Give me a little more time to think of 
it. I am not quite sure of myself.” 

“ I am sure of you though,” answered his friend, 
in that strong, helpful voice, which could not fail 
to carry courage and cheer to any heart. 


142 


DOCTOR WILL. 


No, Arthur Sands was not sure of himself. 
He stood among the half-unpacked things in his 
room, and thought over it. What had all those 
months of travel done for him, after all } Scattered 
all about him were mementoes from foreign places ; 
but there were no strong, beautiful memories con- 
nected with them. He tossed them from him care- 
lessly. At the bottom of his trunk he suddenly 
came upon something which arrested his attention : 
a green wreath — dried and stiff, but green still. 
He remembered with what a boyish feeling of 
pleasure he had placed it there when he was pack- 
ing to go away. He had not looked at it since. 
He took it up carefully, with a little smile on his 
flushed face. A white message looked out from 
the faded green as he lifted it. 

All things are possible.” 

He held the slip of paper in his hand, reading 
the words again and again. How strange it seem- 
ed. He had forgotten all about it. But it all came 
back to him now — the Commencement Day, and 
the boyish fun over the wreath, and Doctor Will’s 
discovery of the slip of paper, with its message. 

Who had done it.** He wondered more now 
than he had then. He heeded the messag-e more 
now than he had then, because he needed it more. 



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DOCTOR WILL. 


143 


All things are possible.” 

Were they ? and to one who had proved himself 
as weak as he had ? Could he start again } Were 
there not strong hands stretched out to help him, 
and loving hearts caring for him } And here again 
this mysterious message coming to him with its 
comfort : All thmgs are possible! 

From that evening’s talk went Lawrence Ev- 
erett, with something in the depths of his heart 
stirred as it had never been before. What had he 
been doing Pleading for an immortal soul to 
come out and be saved } Then, surely, he must 
bend low before the throne and seek the blessing 
both for himself and his friend. The young man 
had found his own real need of God that night as 
he had not felt it ever before. And Lawrence Ev- 
erett prayed^ while Arthur Sands was repeating 
vaguely to himself, ‘M// things are possible.” 


144 


DOCTOR WILL, 


XX. 

/ AM sure of you, though !” 

Was that what Lawrence Everett had said } 
Well, at least he had strong faith. 

Arthur Sands accepted the position at the col- 
lege. He laughed, and said that it was ‘‘done in 
sheer self-defence for they gave him no peace, 
and seemed determined that he should become a 
“ plodding tutor.” 

“‘Some men are born to’ work, and some have 
work ‘thrust upon them,’” he said, half indignant- 
ly, and yet not wholly opposed to having something 
to occupy his time ; for he had been very restless 
and dissatisfied since his return from Europe. 

But those first days of the new undertaking 
were dark days. The grave faces of the college 
. Faculty showed how they regarded this young tutor 
with his unsteady ways. What did it matter that 
he was an excellent scholar, and that he loved the 
old authors of whose works he had engaged to 
teach ? Could they allow themselves to be dis- 
graced in that way } Were the students to carry 


DOCTOR WILL. 


145 

such stories abroad of the habits of their tutor? 
Even Professor Klein shook his head, and was 
afraid their plan would not work. 

But the young men had more faith. We will 
not let him go,” said they. And the influence of 
their upright, earnest lives was a strong weight in 
Arthur Sands’ favor. 

Only wait, and have a little patience with him,” 
said Doctor Will. “ I think he ’ll come out all 
right.” 

I am sure of it,” Lawrence Everett would add. 

And, sirs,” addressing the gray heads of the “ au- 
thorities,” *‘he will make your boys love their dry 
old books, see if he does n’t. And it is n’t every 
man who can do that.” 

No. That was all very well. But the days 
were dark and doubtful, notwithstanding. Some- 
times, when Professor Klein would make an excuse 
to go around by Arthur’s room, he would notice 
the interested faces of the students and the eager 
words of the tutor as they worked together, and 
his heart would grow glad. “ Surely, if he loves 
- his work, it will be all right after awhile,” he would 
say to himself. 

“Don’t you think if the need to work were 
greater that Arthur would do it better — if his daily 

19 


146 


DOCTOR WILL. 


bread were dependent upon his work ? I declare, 
I’ve a mind to steal the old lady’s fortune, and 
leave her boy high and dry upon a barren shore.” 

“ If you can do it honestly, Ray, I will back you. 
But my theory is, that it is the love of the work, 
not the need for it, which makes faithful workers. 
The necessity is all very well for a starting-point ; 
but it is the getting into the spirit of it which only 
can make it a success.” 

And how was it about the entrance of this wan- 
derer into the circle of pure and honorable young 
people who were watching his course with such 
friendly anxiety } Was he allowed a place among 
them ? 

It is a question which often perplexes young 
people, as it had perplexed some of these young 
friends of ours. Whether you should welcome to 
your presence one whose ways and habits are not 
what they should be, giving him the benefit of your 
better and truer life ; or whether you should avoid 
all risk by shutting him out altogether from your 
company. 

I think the decision lies just here : you may not 
go with him, but you may let him come with you. 
You may not seek the company of one whose ways 
are questionable ; but you may throw open your 


DOCTOR WILL. 


147 


doors, and let the light and warmth of purity and 
truth shine out to draw him in. You may set all 
sweet influences to keep him in your better way,” 
and you may not count your hands soiled or stained 
which have been held out to reach with sympathy 
and hope the hand of one who has sinned and gone 
astray. 

Yes, this young man was allowed a place in the 
circle of goodness and truth and purity. The 
“ bonny lady” had settled that, as she generally did 
all such questions. And this time she said, “ Why, 
we are going to keep this young man ; and we must 
draw stronger than they who would take him from 
us. Oiir lights must be brighter, and om hearths 
warmer, and our words pleasanter than theirs ; and 
‘ union is strength,’ you know.” 

Union was strength, as Arthur Sands could 
well testify in those days. “ Why, a fellow can’t 
get rid of you,” he would say, laughingly yielding 
to one or another of the tireless friends, as evening 
after evening they laid their pleasant plans to' se- 
cure him. 

Never shone Jeannie Macdonald’s beautiful par- 
lors as brilliantly as then, when the lights in the win- 
dows were set for a soul astray. Never was Mrs. 
Maggie’s cosey home quite so cheery and inviting as 


148 


DOCTOR WILL. 


then, nor Lawrence Everett’s peaceful abode so 
radiant with wit and mirth. “ Everybody’s talent,” 
as Doctor Will said, “ was taken from its napkin 
and put out at interest.” 

And who shall say that the Master whom they 
served so unostentatiously and with such willing 
service had not laid up for them, when their work 
should be ended, an “ exceeding great reward” ? 


DOCTOR WILL. 


149 


XXI. 

Doctor Will proved true to Jeannie Macdon- 
ald’s trust in him. We shall find her,” he said ; 
“ never fear.” 

And yet, what foundation had he for this hope ? 
None at all ; nothing but his own strong courage, 
and his feeling that this girl must not be left alone 
in the wide world as long as there were hearts wait- 
ing to care for her. He did not speak of this new 
work which he had undertaken. I think that no 
one knew of it except Jeannie and himself. 

No one could ever have guessed that he had 
another work to do, one that lay close to his heart 
day and night, who saw him on his daily rounds 
among the sick and suffering, with his earnest sym- 
pathy and tender words, or who saw him, for an 
evening hour, join the bright band of those who 
sought to save Arthur Sands. Was there a deeper 
thought in his life than even these ? Only he him- 
self knew how deep. * 

Some one said that Doctor Will began to “grow 
old” that winter. But I think not. It was only 
that the lights and shadows from the heights and 


DOCTOR WILL. 


ISO 

depths of manhood began to dawn upon him more 
fully. Only that he began to see, dimly, some 
strong purposes of the Master to be fulfilled in him. 
Only that he had caught glimpses of some sweet 
possibility of life, with God’s everlasting nay" 
back of it. 

He was not, to be sure, troubled any longer 
with the desire which he had once expressed to Dr. 
Chester — to “ stand on his head in the operating- 
room,” nor to slide down the banisters of the hos- 
pital stairs. But his step was as light and quick, 
and his smile as bright as in his ten-year-old days. 
And now and then, to the great delight of all who 
saw it, he would stretch himself on the hearth-rug 
at home in his old, boyish fashion, with his head on 
his mother’s knee. 

Sometimes as he lay there, silently looking into 
the fire, his brother Frank would get impatient and 
exclaim, “ I say, old fellow, have you cut off any 
one’s leg to-day, and made a bad job of it } or what 
have you done, that you are meditating upon so 
ruefully ?” 

Then the young doctor would turn with his old 
ringing laugh, and excuse himself for being so sel- 
fish. Putting aside his own thoughts, he would 
tell them some interesting event of his day’s work, 


DOCTOR WILL. 


151 

or give them a glowing description of how he had 
seen the bonny lady Jean, with Maud and Ray 
Fields, carry Arthur Sands off to a concert or a lec- 
ture. And he looked as happy as a king. I had 
half a mind to go myself ; but I was so tired.” 

Stanley Worthington went with them some- 
times on these occasions. But his ways were very 
erratic. He did not seem to take as great pleas- 
sure in the city life, as his father had expected he 
would. He was restless and dissatisfied ; and yet 
something had sobered him from the wild boy who 
had come back across the ocean that spring. Was 
it something he missed ? His father’s rooms were 
beautiful ; and contained all that he could wish, 
except, perhaps one pure bright face which he had 
shut out by his own foolishness. He thought he 
understood now how it had been. He ought to have 
been wiser. Somehow, nothing seemed to satisfy 
him. And yet if she could get on without him ! — he 
would think, lifting his head in the proud, boyish 
way. 

He grew very fond, in those days, of going to 
jeannie Macdonald’s house. He could scarcely 
tell why. Certainly she talked to him very plainly 
as no one else dared. He rebelled against this 
plain talk at first. But finally he began to under- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


152 

stand how it was that all the young men thought 
so much of this true, brave woman, who stood like 
a fair beacon light, to show each one his way. 

She never failed any one ! That was the secret. 
Some women choose whom they will serve, but this 
one served all, reaching helpful hands to the hum- 
blest and the weakest. 

remember,” once she said to Stanley, “some- 
thing that you said to me the day you took us to 
the ' Emerald cave,’ on the mountain side. You 
had found the best * emerald’ of all, and were 
going to take it to Agnes. * I always give the best 
of everything to her,’ you said. That is what you 
have failed to do, since. The best of you has lost 
its lustre, and become dim.” 

“ The best of me ! the best of me !” he repeated, 
walking restlessly up and down. “ I think I must 
have left that on the mountain-side long ago. I 
do n’t think I can ever get it back again. It has 
been the worst of me, ever since.” 

“ But you can get something better, Stanley. 
Remember who longs to give each one of us true 
cleansing and strength, and to have the ^best of us’ 
for himself first, because he loves us and knows 
that is for our good. And then he makes us able 
to give better things to others than we ever could 


DOCTOR WILL. 


153 


without him. Only ‘be strong’ in Christ, ‘and of 
good courage.’ ” 

How her words carried him back to the still 
mountain home, and the days when he and Agnes, 
in boy and girl friendship, had sat there studying 
and planning and talking together. They had en- 
joyed everything in common then. Whatever he 
had liked, she had cared for too. Now they were 
far apart. He had not given her the best of him- 
self. 

Sometimes, close on the footsteps of Stanley 
Worthington, would come the young doctor, for his 
“word,” as he called it. It was always ready for 
him. And their little council always ended with 
his assured, “ We shall find her, bonny lady, never 
fear.” 

And they did. 


20 


154 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXII. . 

It was one day, when Doctor Will’s work had 
taken him across the city to a neighborhood which 
he seldom visited. It was a bright winter day, and 
the young man enjoyed the keen air and the com- 
parative quiet which reigned in this distant part 
of the town. The houses had an old-fashioned 
look of comfort about them, which he liked. They 
seemed made for homes, not for show. 

Walking on, and noticing all this, in a thought- 
ful way. Doctor Will was attracted suddenly by the 
sound of children’s voices singing in one of the 
houses. Something in the little song seemed 
familiar. He could not hear the words, but the 
tune — ah yes, that was it ! Agnes Elder had sung 
it once or twice up there on the mountain, and 
Jeannie Macdonald had tried to catch it. It was a 
joyous little mountain song, with the spirit and 
freedom of the mountain breezes in it. 

The doctor walked past the house, and then 
walked slowly back again, to listen. 

Suddenly the singing ceased, and with a burst 


DOCTOR WILL, 


iSS 

of childish merriment, a little group of boys and 
girls came flocking out. 

There she stood, watching them go, bending 
smilingly to take the good-by kiss of a shame-faced 
little fellow just out of dresses. 

There was no mistake. And what a girl she 
looked, with her bright face catching the breath of 
the sharp winter breeze ! 

He went straight toward her, through the 
group of astonished children without hesitating 
a moment. “ I knew I should find you,” he said, 
as calmly as he had said to Jeannie the night before, 
“ We shall find her, bonny lady, never fear.” 

Oh !” she said, “ what made you T But she 
did not look so very sorry, as she led him into the 
little room from which the children had just gone. 
It was a pretty room, full of all useful and pleasant 
devices for teaching the little ones. 

He smiled, and answered, ‘‘‘What made me.^’ 
why, I could not help it. The bonny lady set me 
my duty. And we wanted you so much ; you do 
not know how much.” 

The tears gathered in her eyes, but she said 
bravely, “ I could not stay. I felt it was not right. 
And I knew I could be independent.” 

She did not wait for him to ask her any ques- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


156 

tions, but went on to tell him all, as if she were 
glad that he should know. 

I went to Mima, and she told me of an aunt of 
hers who lived here, and who, she thought, would 
help me. She had been teaching a little school for 
a great many years in this house, but was getting 
old, and Mima thought perhaps I could be of use to 
her. She came here with me. And indeed it 
seemed just as if the work was laid out and waiting 
for me. Mrs. Palmer was feeling that she must 
give up her school, and yet she could not bear the 
thought, for it had become almost a part of her 
life. Now she has given me the work to do ; and 
she can see the children just the same, and plan 
and advise. She is a wonderful old lady. I would 
like you to see her. And I have such a pleasant, 
quiet home. I am very thankful.” 

She stopped suddenly and looked a little embar- 
rassed, as if she thought she had been talking too 
much. 

“ Thank you for telling me,” he said. “ I am so 
glad to find you so comfortable and happy. But we 
waat you all the same.” 

He did not say, want you.” He could wait ; 
he would wait. 

“ And I think that Mr. Worthington misses you.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


157 


“ Oh, will you tell him ?” she exclaimed sudden- 
ly. “ Now I am glad that I have seen you. Please 
tell him that I am getting on so nicely. But do not 
tell any one else about it. And oh, Doctor Will, if 
he is ever sick, very sick, and really needs me, you 
will come and tell me, I know.” 

“ Yes, I will.” 

He looks so feeble, and he has grown so old. 
Don’t you think he will be better now that they 
are here, and Stanley is more satisfied ?” 

He did not answer her question, for he was won- 
dering how she knew. She saw it, and the quick, 
bright color flashed into her cheeks ; but she looked 
up with clear, truthful eyes. “I was so anxious, 
and Mima knew where they were. And sometimes 
in the evening, when he takes his walks after din- 
ner, Harry goes over that way with me, and I see 
him. He was so good to me always, and I was so 
sorry to go away from him. Harry is Mrs. Pal- 
mer’s adopted boy,” she added, with a little laugh 
at herself and at the doctor’s puzzled face. 

Then he smiled too, and answered her question. 
‘‘He has grown old and feeble very fast lately ; but 
perhaps things will straighten out and brighten for 
him somewhat. I hope so. And Dr. Chester is a 
splendid companion for him. He is so cheery and 


DOCTOR WILL. 


hearty and helpful. And now will you come to see 
the bonny lady } She is very anxious to see you.” 

She shook her head. “ I should like so much 
to see her, but I do not think I can come.” 

“ Then let me bring her to you. May I T 

She consented. And then she went to ask Mrs. 
Palmer to come in and see her friend. 

She was a fair-faced old lady, with soft, white 
hair, and a voice which had only grown sweeter and 
gentler, for all her years of teaching and training 
the boys and girls. 

“ Here is some one else for our bonny Jean to 
see and admire,” Doctor Will thought. 

And when he went away he was astonished to 
find how the time had passed. He was late at tea. 
But there was a light in his eyes and a ring in his 
voice which had not been there for many a day. 

“Does your bonny lady hold high festival to- 
night.^” asked Frank, as his brother came down 
stairs again, “ brushed and polished,” and prepared 
to go out. 

“ Well, I do n’t exactly know. There are one or 
two sick babies who hold theirs first, at any rate. 
And then — we ’ll see. And, mother, I may be late,” 
he added, bending to the gray-haired lady who had 
followed him to the door to notice if his overcoat 


DOCTOR WILL. 


^59 


were buttoned closely, and if he were ready for the 
keen night air. 

He always said it, I may be late ; do not wor- 
ry,” if there were any probability of such a thing. 
And on this night he added softly, “ O mother, I 
have found her,” as she reached to turn up his 
coat-collar. 

And then she knew what that light in his eyes 
meant. She was glad too. She would like to have 
this boy of hers happy, fully happy, with his life 
rounded to completeness. And she thought, per- 
haps this mountain girl held one link of the chain 
in her hands. 

Jeannie Macdonald did not need to be told. One 
look at his face was enough, as he went in rather 
late that evening and smiled upon her as she sat 
singing for her friends. The sick babies” had held 
their court. Not one duty had been neglected or 
hurried. The new joy and hope in the young doc- 
tor’s heart seemed only to make him more wise and 
true and tender in his work ; and the consciousness 
of work faithfully done only added to the gladness 
in his face ; so that when Jeannie looked up at him, 
she thought, Why, he looks like the little Will 
who used to sit beside Monty’s chair.” 


i6o 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXIII. 

I WILL take you to the door, and come back 
for you when you are ready to go. I know that 
you two will have a great deal to say to each other, 
and wont want me for an audience.” 

Jeannie smiled and did not contradict him. 
She thought she might have some things to say to 
Agnes which no one else should hear, though she 
hoped — ah, how she hoped — that some day Doctor 
Will should be the one to whom every thought and 
feeling of this mountain girl should properly be- 
long. 

Doctor Will raised his hat to the bonny lady, 
watched her pass within the doorway like a gleam 
of summer sunlight, and then he walked away 
quickly, and began straightway to think of old Reu- 
ben Maston, whose injured limb was healing nice- 
ly, if the stubborn old fellow could only be persua- 
ded that beer-drinking did not help it any. 

It was a healthy change for the young doctor’s 
thoughts. I think that God sends us often these 
common, homely bits of work to guard us against 
too much lingering on the sunny heights, and to 


DOCTOR WILL, 


i6i 

steady our hearts for the great realities of life ; and 
if we attend to them properly, taking them as work 
sent by the wise Father, they will become less 
common and more full of interest to us. 

You will scarcely believe it, perhaps, my boys, 
but before Doctor Will had been five minutes in 
the small, dull home of old Reuben, every thought 
of Jeannie and her newly-found friend had vanished 
from his mind, and he was wholly absorbed in the 
bandages of the man’s limb, and in hearing the 
complaints of his wife as to how he “would have 
that beer,” and scoffed at the nice lemonade which 
she had taken so much trouble to make. 

“Ah, my man,” said the doctor, shaking his 
head as he unwound the bandages, half smiling at 
the twinkle in the old man’s eye, “ this will never 
do. You know you would feel very sorry if that 
fine block of houses went up without your having 
a hand in the matter. Splendid buildings ! And 
they certainly will, if you don’t obey my orders, 
and take your wife’s cool drink, and keep yourself 
quiet.” 

Then, while he handled the bruised limb with 
tender touches, he spoke with the builder about the 
plan of the new houses, showing as much interest 
as if he really had some ownership in the property, 


i 62 


DOCTOR WILL, 


and making old Reuben feel quite cheerful and 
proud again. 

Then too he instructed the oldest girl about 
the managing of the helpless limb, throwing in bits 
of valuable information in his quiet, earnest way, 
which, if the girl treasured them up, would go 
toward making her a useful nurse some day. 

Meanwhile, the youngest child nestled her rum- 
pled head on his chair, waiting for the word of 
notice which -she never failed to get ; and the 
eight-year-old boy brought his Third Reader to 
show how wonderfully he had improved. 

Was it not a part of this true man’s work to 
make all these poor hearts glad ? Could he, being 
a faithful worker, neglect or despise one of “the 
least of these” ? If you could have lingered be- 
hind and heard the blessings which followed him 
as he went away, you would have understood how 
well this young man was doing the work he had 
chosen. 

“ I hate to see him go, I do,” said old Reuben. 
And they were the first pleasant words which he 
had spoken that day. “ It just does a body good to 
hear and see him. He knows his own business, 
and he knows a heap more besides. Those fronts 
now — who would ever have supposed he knew? 


DOCTOR WILL. 163 

Wife, let me have the papers and make a calcula- 
tion.” 

“ Blessings on his handsome head,” exclaimed 
the happy woman, running for her husband’s pa- 
pers, “ it is like a glint of sunshine to have him 
sittin’ here so kind and easy like.” 

“ He ’s going to give me a present when I can 
speak every word of ' The Building of the Ship,’ ” 
cried the precocious young lad from behind his 
Third Reader. And I like dat doc’or,” repeated 
little curly-head, rolling contentedly on the floor ; 
while the eldest girl went cheerfully back to her 
machine, feeling braver and stronger and more 
hopeful for the young doctor’s visit. 

He did not know what benedictions were sent 
after him, but his heart had its own reward as he 
walked away. A certain gladness, and conscious- 
ness of having done some good, made his step -light 
and his face pleasant to look upon. 

It was full five minutes after he had left the 
humble home, before the remembrance of Jeannie 
and her visit came back to his mind. He even 
went out of his way a little, to go around by the 
block where the foundations of the new houses 
were being laid, that he might perhaps find some- 
thing to tell the old builder on his next visit. Be- 


164 


DOCTOR WILL. 


sides, he really felt a certain interest in the opera- 
tions since he had talked so much with Reuben 
about them. 

That is the way one’s life grows large and 
broad, and loses its selfishness. Every thought for 
others, even for the very lowest and poorest, every 
care for their interest goes to make our own lives 
grander and better. It is the Master’s way; a 
beautiful way, and not a hard one either. 

“I should like to stay a while, very much,” 
Doctor Will said, in reply to Agnes Elder’s word 
of invitation, “but I have a number of calls yet, 
and if the bonny lady is ready, I think we must 

go- 

He knew by the flush on Agnes’ face and the 
look in Jeannie’s eyes, that their talk had been of 
an exciting nature ; and so he judged it better, for 
this time, that he should not stay at all. 

“ But I may bring her again he asked, as 
Jeannie wrapped her “plaid” about her, and pre- 
pared to go. 

“ Indeed I shall come, you may be sure,” she 
interrupted ; stooping from her graceful height to 
kiss the cheek of her little friend. “ Since she re- 
fuses even to come and call upon me, it must be 
all one-sided for the present !” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ Oh yes,” said Agnes, “ I am so glad to have 
seen you. It has done me good, and I want you 
to come soon again. I thank you very much for 
bringing her,” she added, turning to Doctor Will. 
“You always were good to me; I do not forget 
it.” 

He only smiled. He had no words which he 
dared trust himself to speak. A true, calm smile 
that seemed to fall upon her like a blessing. It 
was only his “Good-by,” that was all, but it left 
her with her eyes full of tears. Did he know why ? 


i66 


DOCTOR WILL, 


XXIV. 

Neither of them spoke for some time. The 
clear cold air touched their faces, and there was 
healing in its touch. Perhaps there was health, 
also, in this keen breath of disappointment which 
had blown across their lives. Perhaps there would 
be strength and vigor resulting from it some day ; 
it was hard t6 realize it, then. 

After walking some blocks through the bracing 
air, the pulse of each beat more calmly and stead- 
ily. They knew each other so well, these two, 
that words were never spoken between them out 
of season. 

Presently Doctor Will drew a long breath, and 
looked down at the face by his side. Jeannie 
looked up at the tall young doctor and smiled. It 
was one of those rare smiles, which only the purest 
and best of women can give: and it was like a 
benediction to the young man. It meant a clear 
understanding, and a tender sympathy ; it meant 
trust in his courage, and sure hope in his future ; 
it meant help and good cheer, and words of woman- 
ly counsel whenever he should ask for them. That 


DOCTOR WILL. 167 

last was a great deal. Some women would not 
have waited for the asking. 

Some such thoughts passed through Doctor 
Will’s mind that day, as he looked down and met 
Jeannie Macdonald’s quiet smile, so suggestive of 
all good possibilities. '' So you could not persuade 
her, bonny lady 

‘*No, Will; she wants to stay where she is, 
and go on with her work. That is very well, it is 
good and pleasant work. But she thinks it best 
that she should not even come among us, to visit 
and enjoy our society. She must feel lonely too, 
sometimes.” 

“ Yes, she is so young.” 

“ She seems most anxious about old Mr. Worth- 
ington, and she wants us to be sure and let her 
know if he should get sick and need her.” 

“ Yes, but why } I do n’t see why.” 

“I will tell you. Will,” said Jeannie in her 
sweet, low voice, as he hesitated, and a troubled 
look passed over his face. “ I will tell you why. 
Agnes cares so much for Stanley, and he cares so 
much for her that she thinks it wisest and best for 
both that she should stay away from him.” 

How tenderly she said it ! Scarcely ever, in all 
his life, had the young man heard her voice more 


DOCTOR WILL. 


1 68 

sweet and gentle. Such a voice was made to tell a 
man sad truths. There was something soothing in 
its sound, and a touch of assurance, too ; as if she 
might say, You will rise above it, I know, and 
prove yourself a strong man.” 

They came to Jeannie’s house just as she said 
it to him ; and the doctor went up the steps and in 
at the door quietly without a word. It was not the 
first time that he had gone into Jeannie Macdon- 
ald’s beautiful home to find help and comfort. 

All was still in the long, dim parlor, and the 
scent of flowers came in from the conservatory. 
Doctor Will walked up and down the floor without 
speaking. His face was very white. And how 
sweet those flowers were! He felt as if it were a 
funeral, as if he had just laid down some dear treas- 
ure, to bury it out of sight for ever, and drop rare 
flowers upon it as a last offering. 

Jeannie sat down at the piano and touched the 
keys softly. She was not thinking at all of herself, 
nor of what she should play. She was only think- 
ing of that young man, her childhood’s friend, who 
had been called upon to lay down his first sweet, 
glad hope. She wished that she could bear the 
pain for him. Yet she knew he would come out 
of the flames purified and made strong for all the 


DOCTOR WILL. 169 

future. She knew it. Why should she fear for 
him } 

Doctor Will did not think of what she was play- 
ing, either, until, after awhile, she began to sing in 
a low voice, and he caught these words : 

Oh, well for him whose will is firm and strong. 

He suffers, but he will not suffer long ; 

He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong.” 

Certainly he had never heard Jeannie sing that 
before ; and it was a slow, pleasing, chant-like mel- 
ody, one which took up the words naturally and set 
them strongly before the hearer. 

When she had finished it he stood beside her, 
and said, in his calm, quiet way, ** Thank you, bon- 
ny Jean ; you are a man’s good angel.” 

She only smiled. There were such tears behind 
the smile that she scarcely dared trust herself to 
look up at him. She might have held his hands in 
hers, and said, “ O Will, I am so sorry ! I wish it 
could have been otherwise.” She might have shed 
her tears before him there, and let him see how 
much she cared, she who had known him all those 
years. But she was too unselfish for that. Was it 
not her work to help and cheer him ? to show what 
faith she had in his courage and manhood to hide 
the depth of her own sorrow, and let him see that 


22 


170 


DOCTOR WILL. 


life still held high purposes and much brightness 
for him ? 

He had become stronger already. The white 
look of suffering had gone from his face. 

“She told you all about it, Jeannie?” he asked, 
in a calm, steady voice. 

“ Yes, Will ; and I think she would like to have 
me tell you. She found that while Stanley cared 
so much for her, yet he was so wild and unsettled 
in his habits that she must not link her life with 
his. It would only bring ruin and grief, she said ; 
and I think she judged rightly. Her fear was that 
if she stayed near to try and make him better, she 
might be persuaded to overcome her feelings, and 
trust her happiness in his hands, for she is very 
fond of him. She has always known him, and her 
affection for him has grown day by day through the 
years of constant intercourse. He is in no way 
worthy of such a girl.” 

Then it was that the young doctor’s strong, no- 
ble nature shone clearly above all thought of self. 

“ Bonny lady,” he said, “ we will try to make him 
worthy of her. We will strive, more than ever, to 
bring him back into good and honorable ways, since 
she cares so much for him.” 

“Yes, Will.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


171 

“And, Jeannie, you know best how to do it. 
You and I must work together, because we know 
the motive and the need best ; you and I, with the 
highest Help of all. Why, tell him, Jeannie, what 
a blessing waits him when he proves himself wor- 
thy of it. Perhaps he does n’t quite know. A man 
could surely do anything with such a hope ahead.” 

Then he pressed Jeannie’s hand with a quick 
grasp, and went away to his work. 

And “ the highest Help of all ” was sought by 
each of them, then, as always ; for they had learned 
the strong truth of the Saviour’s own words, “With- 
out me ye can do nothing.” For the strength to 
work, and for the strength to bear whatever came 
to be borne, here was their sure Refuge. Young 
as they were, they had learned this, and it was what 
made their lives so full of courage and brightness. 


172 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXV. 

But Agnes Elder was not long allowed to keep 
her stern and good resolution. In and through all 
our own little plans and thoughts and resolves runs 
unseen the thread of God’s purpose. And when 
this crosses our little schemes, all we have to do is 
to bow our heads, to follow as it leads, and to feel 
that his way is always best. Agnes was going on 
with her work day by day, growing more contented 
and cheerful. She felt sure that she was in the 
right ; and that assurance makes any one strong. 

Jeannie Macdonald’s first visit had somewhat 
unsettled the calmness of her spirit. Much had 
passed between these two friends which no one 
else knew about. Jeannie’s gentle way had drawn 
out the girl’s confidence; and Agnes felt glad 
that there was one to whom she could fully and 
freely tell her reason for leaving Mr. Worthington’s 
home. 

Jeannie’s own part was possibly more difficult 
than that of her friend. She questioned herself 
closely before she took a step in the delicate and 
intricate path. How did she know certainly that 


DOCTOR WILL. 


173 


her Doctor Will cared so much for this girl ? How, 
except by the strong insight and knowledge which 
she had earned through years of pure and helpful 
friendship? She could not have been more sure 
had Will himself told her. 

And being sure, should she, ought she to speak 
of it to Agnes ? He would not, she knew very well, 
at least not until he felt certain that he had an hon- 
est right to put forward his claim, and would not 
interfere with one whose claim was older. And 
yet, surely Agnes would never trust her life-happi- 
ness to one who had proved himself as weak and 
unworthy as Stanley Worthington. He might 
never reform, never become pure and upright 
enough to stand before her and ask her for the best 
gift that can crown a man’s life. Then perhaps, in 
time, Agnes might forget her old, girlish fondness 
for him, and be able to care for some nobler and 
stronger man. What, if she knew, then, that this 
brave young doctor had such tender thoughts for 
her ? Ought she not to know ? 

Jeannie Macdonald was a clear-thinking woman. 
She set the case in the light of her pure judgment, 
and settled upon her line of action in a very short 
space of time. 

“ I think perhaps you are right, Agnes. And 


174 


DOCTOR WILL. 


since you cannot, we will throw all our silken cords 
to catch your friend, and fasten him firmly in the 
steady and pure way. Remember that we are think- 
ing and working with you. And there is just one 
thing more which I want to say to you. You will 
not mind my saying it, I am sure, and I would like 
you to know it. Our Doctor Will cares a great deal 
for you, too. He has never really told me, nor any 
one, I think ; but I know it. And Agnes, whatever 
comes, I want you to remember that his strong, 
true regard is yours. The knowledge need not 
trouble you, nor make any difference at all. Only, 
perhaps some day it may be a comfort to you.” 

Perhaps so. It did not seem possible then, and 
she was sorry. She thanked Jeannie for her sym- 
pathy and words of good cheer, but the look upon 
her face told well what she thought of the future 
possibilities. That was all that was ever spoken 
between them on the subject. 

And Jeannie’s visits after that were quiet ones, 
full of calm, pleasant talk, and very cheering to the 
brave girl, who shut herself away from a certain 
present sweetness lest it should prove a bitterness 
in the future. 

Doctor Will went too, sometimes ; but he was 
brave too, and no sign of the hidden knowledge 


DOCTOR WILL. 


17s 

ever appeared in word or action of either, at these 
quiet, friendly meetings. 

Jeannie could not help having her own little 
wishes. She tried not to ; but she did so want 
Will to be happy. 

Then the fine thread of God’s purpose caught 
in upon all their weaving ; and his way held the 
wisdom which they could not see or comprehend. 

Old Mr. Worthington was suddenly taken ill ; 
and in his first moments of consciousness he asked 
eagerly for Agnes. “ Could not some one find her ? 
would not some one find her — his little daughter, 
whom he wanted so much.” 

Doctor Will answered quietly, when Dr. Ches- 
ter told him, Yes, I think I can find her; and I 
am sure she will go to him.” 

The old doctor looked rather surprised, but 
asked no questions. He had grown too old for 
mere curiosity. And he cared principally that his 
old friend’s wish should be gratified. So he only 
replied, “ Bring her, then, my boy, as soon as possi- 
ble.” 

“ Doctor Will did not need a second bidding. 
He hastened to Jeannie Macdonald, and she agreed 
with pleasure to go and tell Agnes. 

And, Jeannie, take her right there yourself. It 


176 


DOCTOR WILL. 


will be better every way, and pleasanter for her. I 
am only * consulting physician ' in this case.” 

He smiled in his bright, contented way. But 
Jeannie knew very well what deep feelings and 
anxieties there were behind the smile. 

*'Dear Will, it will be all right, I think,” she 
said with her eyes full of tender sympathy. 

Bonny Jean, I know it will be all right.” Were 
not all things surely right” in a life marked out 
by the dear Master’s hand ? in a life where all 
things, disappointments and losses, as well as joys, 
went to work out his great purposes!* — his wise, 
beautiful purposes, that 

“ Ripen fast, 

Unfolding every hour.” 

And she went away to the pretty little schoolroom. 

“ I must go right away,” Agnes Elder said, as 
soon as she had heard Jeannie’s message about Mr. 
Worthington. Will you go with me ?” she asked, 
stopping at the door, as she was hurrying off to 
get her hat. “ I should like it so much, if you 
would.” 

Certainly I will ; and do anything else that I 
can for you,” answered Jeannie cordially. 

And it was not long before the old man had his 


DOCTOR WILL, 


177 


“ little daughter ” by his side with all her old, gen- 
tle ways that had always pleased him so, in his 
lonely home. 

Stanley too had received his kind word of greet- 
ing, but nothing more. He lingered eagerly about, 
watching her every movement, as if he hoped for 
some little special grace for himself. But Agnes 
seemed wholly absorbed in his father. And indeed, 
the old gentleman showed plainly that he would not 
long need any one’s attention or care. Dr. Chester 
hovered about his old schoolmate, with his great 
heart full of grief and tenderness. He shook his 
head, when Agnes asked him if Mr. Worthington 
might not get better if he were taken up to his old 
mountain home. It seemed to her at least, that 
there was healing in those strong breezes and in 
the old associations. 

But it was not to be. Calmly, and with the 
truest, tenderest friends about him, with gentlest 
ministrations the old man passed his last days. 

Some few earnest talks he had alone with his 
“ little daughter but no one knew what was said 
between them. Certainly no true daughter could 
have been more devoted to him, during those fev/ 
days. And when all was over, her heart was filled 
with glad peace, for the comfort she knew she had 

23 


178 


DOCTOR WILL. 


been to him ; and for his touch of blessing laid with 
his trembling hands upon her head. 

What she might be led to do for Stanley, for 
his father’s sake, no one could tell ; for she went 
quietly back to her work, after she had laid her 
last reverent kiss upon the cold lips of him who 
had so kindly and truly fitted her for that work. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


m 


XXVI. 

“What, the lady Jean You don’t mean it. 
Teaching the young idea. And I never guessed 
what caused her added dignity. Bless her bonny 
face ! She seems made to step in and fill up all 
troublesome vacancies.” 

“ She is everybody’s good angel. I do n’t know 
what we shall all do, when some right royal fellow 
comes along and claims her for his own.” 

“ There is n’t one ‘ right royal ’ enough, living, 
doctor.” 

“ Somewhere, I know not, but somewhere on earth, 
Some one who took the crown-right at her birth. 
Somewhere a woman with womanhood true, 

Waiting, so crowned and so chosen, for you D 

sang Ray Fields. 

And Mrs. Maggie’s baby instantly began to 
coo its approval of the deep pleasant voice. It was 
in the young “Madam’s ” cosey little sitting-room 
that the kindred spirits had found one another 
that evening. 

“Ray is a believer in fatalism. Now I don’t 


8o 


DOCTOR WILL. 


think there is a man living, who ‘took the crown- 
right’ at his birth, even to sit at Jeannie’s feet.” 

“ I heard a gentleman say, once, that no man 
is good enough for any woman,” said Mrs. Maggie, 
smiling, as she met her husband’s eyes, across the 
top of his evening paper. “ But I do n’t agree with 
him altogether.” 

“ We ‘ have n’t a word to say,’ ” answered Law- 
rence Everett with mock solemnity. 

But Arthur Sands, who was walking restlessly 
back and forth, said in his abrupt way, “ I think he 
was right.” 

At which they all smiled, wondering how long 
Arthur would hold to that opinion. 

“ That ’s right, my future professor ; humility 
is a very wholesome thing.” 

“ But tell us, did the bonny lady really go over 
there every day just to teach those youngsters V 

“ Of course. You see. Miss Agnes was troubled 
for fear the old lady, Mrs. Palmer, might not be 
able to take charge of them for even a short time ; 
and when Jeannie heard her speak of it, she offered 
right away to take care of the school herself. It 
must have been a great relief to Agnes ; for every 
one knows that what Jeannie undertakes is sure to 
be well done.” 


DOCTOR WILL. 


i8 


“Yes indeed. And very likely the bonny 
schoolmistress will want to stay and be assistant to 
Miss Elder. She always falls in love with her 
work, whatever kind it happens to be.” 

So she did. And that was the secret of her 
faithful performance of whatever duty came in her 
way ; and that too was the cause of her bright and 
cheerful ways. Learn it, all of you, boys and girls, 
young and old. Love your present work, whatever 
it be, great or small. Do it with your whole heart. 
And see how happy it will make you. 

“ I think Jeannie will not do that, however much 
she might like to ; because she knows how her 
mother would fret about it. And the bonny lady 
never forgets or slights her mother’s wishes.” 

There was a little pause of unspoken respect for 
the absent Jeannie, while Arthur Sands continued 
hi's slow, uneasy walking up and down the far end 
of the room. 

Doctor Will went to the hall, and returned with 
his light overcoat on his arm. 

“What will young Stanley do now, do you sup- 
pose T said Arthur abruptly. 

“ What he has been doing most of the time all 
along, I think — nothing,” said Ray Fields. 

These young men were not quite so tender in 


i 82 


DOCTOR WILL. 


speaking of their own sex, as they were in their 
words about women. And a lazy young man, how- 
ever handsome and however wealthy, was scarcely 
tolerated. Strange, the difference. At that very 
moment, Stanley Worthington was sitting with 
Jeannie Macdonald and her mother in their bright 
handsome parlor. And there would surely some 
strong help come to him at this turning point of 
his life, from women who were pure and upright, 
yet tender with his faults, and long-suffering and 
patient. 

“Well,” replied Doctor Will to Arthur, “ I do n’t 
quite know. He hasn’t much to settle or to over- 
see, for his father’s affairs were left in most perfect 
order. But he seems to want to stay in the city. 
I have an idea that Dr. Chester is going to take 
him in hand ; and if he does — ” 

“ Pshaw !” interrupted Frank Watkins, who had 
come in a few moments before. “ He had better 
let him go back to the mountains, and spread him- 
self out on the rocks, for a feast of ‘ classics.’ ” 

“Don’t be hard, Frank. You’re an old bache- 
lor, remember, and have left your youthful pranks 
far behind. If Dr. Chester has taken an interest 
in him, he will not let him go very easily, I can 
tell you.” 


DOCTOR WILL, 


183 


“ Stanley is a splendid scholar,” said Arthur 
musingly, “but I don’t really know what he could 
do. You fellows seem determined that every man 
must go to work at something, whether there is any 
need of it or not.” He smiled, but it was not quite 
the old, frank, fearless smile which they remembered 
in the college days. Still, Arthur was keeping his 
position ; and the students were getting to love 
their daily tasks, out of which he could bring such 
interest and solid pleasure. Everybody had hopes 
of Arthur. And sometimes he would say softly, to 
himself, with a strong clinching of his hands, as he 
walked away from temptation at night under the 
calm, starry skies, All things are possible^ And 
- he was beginning to realize too, through failure and 
victory, how alone they are possible, namely, “ to 
him that believeth” on the Son of God. 

“ Certainly, my boy. ‘ Let us then be up and 
doing.’ And, Arthur, if you can advise or help 
Dr. Chester any, please do so. You know Stanley 
better than he does ; and — ” 

“ Hold on. Doctor ! I ’m coming with you.” 
And Arthur seized his hat and went out with the 
doctor. 

“Does Stanley know of the whereabouts of 
Miss Agnes T asked Lawrence. 


184 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ No,” answered Lizzie ; “ but I am sure he 
will soon find out where she is, since he knows she 
is in the city. And I almost hope he will. Poor 
boy ! he seems so fond of her ; and she might be 
the means of making him better.” 

“ Jeannie says she is wise ; and the bonny lady 
knows. Madam. If he cares for her, let him show 
himself in some degree worthy of her. All the 
rest of us will help him ; but she must not.” 

“ Well, perhaps you are right.” 

“ I think so. Let a man reach to a pure height, 
to pluck his beautiful blossoms ; but let him reach 
with pure hands, which can hold steadily and 
faithfully.” 

Jeannie Macdonald was telling Stanley that very 
thing at this same time, after they had had a little 
Greek “to astonish mother,” and Jeannie had play- 
ed and sung to him. He begged her very hard to 
know where Agnes was, and what she was doing, 
and who was taking care of her. 

“She is taking care of herself, Stanley. She 
can do so, and she will do so, until a pure and hon- 
orable man offers to do it instead. Be patient and 
hopeful, and try, and keep your father’s last bless- 
ing with care and honor.” 

She was running her fingers lightly over the 


DOCTOR WILL. 


keys as she spoke, and it seemed like the far-off 
music of coming joy, and the soft song of hope to 
him. When he bade her good-night there was a 
new light in his eyes, and a dream of a fair future, 
with grand purposes, in his heart. The boys’ 
‘‘ bonny lady” was doing her work well ; ay, better 
than she knew. For, side by side with her gentle 
counsels went her earnest Christian life day by day. 
And he who was to learn from her words would 
first learn where the source of all her wisdom and 
strength lay. But she did not go back to assist 
Agnes in teaching the little children. 


24 


i86 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXVII. 

Our Doctor Will was doing his work well too. 
The little schoolmistress, who had gone so bravely 
and quietly back to her unknown home and to her 
daily task, did not know what a strong heart was 
trying to shut out the thought of her. If she had, 
she might. perhaps have given in her own heart and 
life a larger place to Doctor Will. 

Old Dr. Chester had persuaded Stanley Worth- 
ington to stay with him for a while at least. And it 
was strange and beautiful to see the white-haired old 
man entering into the youthful plans and pleasures 
of his guest, and turning his quiet home into a 
place of brightness and fun, for the sake of this son 
of his old friend, that he might win him to a nobler 
life. Who shall say that Dr. Chester was not 
working for God, working with God, in this } He 
well knew that every one may have the Master’s 
cause so closely at heart, that, although not “ call- 
ed” to preach the gospel, he may yet minister for 
God in the daily round of lower duties. 

Of course Doctor Will saw a great deal of 
Stanley Worthington after that, for his office joined 


DOCTOR WILD 


187 

Dr. Chester’s, and he was in and out constantly. 
The old doctor had almost entirely given up his 
business to his young partner. He only retained 
enough to “keep himself from idleness,” he said ; 
and he would sometimes go with the “ boy-doctor” 
in special “ cases,” to give the benefit of his knowl- 
edge and long experience. It was a pleasant sight, 
as all the neighbors and many of the parents could 
testify, to see the old doctor and the young one go 
out together. 

When Doctor Will went alone, he generally 
preferred to walk, no matter how great the distance. 
But when they went together they always rode. 

Dr. Chester’s white hair and calm, cheerful face 
with the keen eyes, contrasted pleasantly with 
Doctor Will’s youthful look, his tall, straight figure, 
and his earnest manner. Very respectful he always 
was towards the old doctor, and it was easy to see 
how proud and happy he was whenever he was 
going anywhere with him. 

There was no “Young America” there. All of 
Doctor Will’s success, all the flattering words and 
the grateful devotion of his patients, had not lifted 
him up so in his own estimation, that he did not 
bow with true reverence and humility before the 
age and experience of the old doctor. He was a 


DOCTOR WILL. 


1 88 

real learner still, and an attentive pupil when he 
went with his old friend Dr. Chester. When he 
went alone he was the quiet, strong, self-contained 
man whom people respected, and in whom they 
placed firm confidence. 

If was good for Doctor Will that he met Stanley 
thus, day after day, and often in the quiet of the 
doctor’s study. The queer, ponderous volumes, old 
and new, in the doctor’s special library, had given 
Stanley much diversion and amusement at first. 

*‘What in the world you ever find to read in 
these abominable books, I can’t tell,” he would say, 
putting them up and taking them down one by one, 
with a freedom which only Doctor Will ever used. 
Then he would go up stairs to the more enjoyable 
library, and read and lounge in a restless way for 
perhaps an hour. Then he would go down again, 
and ask if he could n’t go with them on their visits, 
and “ see what kind of life a doctor’s life really was.” 
Sometimes, then, the old doctor would take the 
horse and go, when it was not at all necessary, 
simply to please or interest Stanley. Occasionally 
Doctor Will would invite him to go with him. But 
Stanley did not often accept his invitation. He did 
not feel quite at his ease with this pure-souled 
young man. How much did he know ? And how 


DOCTOR WILL. 


189 

much would he stand in the way of his own hopes 
and desires ? Ah ! he had not reached, he could 
not reach yet to see and understand the clear, hon- 
orable, unselfish height where this young doctor 
stood. 

Certainly he was very friendly to Stanley. ' Had 
he not with clear insight solved the problem that 
lay between them ? And, being solved, would he 
swerve, ever, from fulfilling his part truly and nobly ? 

Was this easy Not at all. Sometimes the 
graceful figure of this idle boy, stretched on the 
lounge when he entered, would irritate him, and 
fill him with disgust. Then he would ask himself, 
Is this what she cares for ? will she continue to 
care for such a poor piece of humanity ? will she 
ever put her own earnest, unselfish life beside this 
one r 

When the questions were too troublesome for 
him, and he had to struggle with them, he would 
take up his hat again and go out, walking briskly 
until he had “ walked it off,” as he said to himself. 
But generally he had some pleasant word for the 
lounger. 

In fact. Dr. Chester having undertaken this 
** case,” had many young and eager helpers. They 
besieged his quiet home day and evening, and he- 


190 


DOCTOR WILL. 


had to plan with them, and discuss their questions 
and suggestions, until he laughingly said he “might 
just as well have reared a family of children, for 
all the peace he had.” And his keen old eyes 
would fill with tears ; for what reason they never 
exactly knew. 

Arthur Sands was the only one of the young 
circle who did not often visit Dr. Chester’s house. 
There was a “ let-my-boy-alone ” look in the old 
man’s eyes, which he did not care to face, con- 
scious though he was of his own struggle toward 
the right. 

And Stanley himself seemed to have lost all 
care and thought of Arthur. There had never been 
between them such a tie as will hold strongly 
through all changes. Stanley had not much care 
or thought for any one or anything. He had set- 
tled from positively bad ways, into a state of care- 
lessness and indifference, and it was to rouse him 
from this to some high and noble purpose, that all 
his friends were working. 

“ If he would only get up and do something !” 
Dr. Chester would exclaim sorhetimes, half losing 
patience, and yet keeping still a wonderful ten- 
derness, for the sake of his old friend, the boy’s 
father. “ Do something ! if it were only to go 


DOCTOR WILL. 


191 

about the city and count the square feet, or to go 
round to the stable and scold O’Brien for not keep- 
ing my horse in good condition, or to go and make 
a calculation of how many churches there are be- 
tween here and — ” > 

“There, there, sir!” Will would interpose, put- 
ing his arm through the old man’s, and walking up 
and down with him ; “ do n’t set him at such small 
things. He will do better than that some day. 
Do n’t you see that he is growing fond of our 
^ abominable books ’ } I have caught him reading 
them on the sly. And sometimes he asks ques- 
tions, as indifferently as he can ; but I tell you, sir, 
you’ll have to give him lectures on anatomy pretty 
soon.” 

Which would calm the old doctor, and please 
him greatly. And there was more truth in it than 
Doctor Will himself imagined. 


192 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXVIII. 

Maud Fields was puzzling her pretty head 
over some of the problems of life. Things did not 
seem to be going exactly right within her own 
little sphere of observation. “Why need people 
be so very particular about certain things ? And 
why are people so absurd as to turn away from a 
happiness they desire, just because there might be 
a little risk in taking it T 

She let Mrs. Maggie’s baby pull away her 
crochet thread without heeding, and leaned back 
in the easy chair, with a troubled flush upon her 
face. 

“ Something will be ravelled out, if your puzzles 
of people are not,” cried Lawrence Everett’s “fair 
one with the golden locks.” And baby screamed, 
while Mrs. Maggie tried to rescue Maud’s pretty 
work. 

“ Oh, do n’t mind, let her have it. Poor little 
thing, I like to see her happy. If she grows up to 
be a woman, she can’t have all she wants ; and she 
will get dreadfully fired with these questions about 
whether this or that is right.” 

“A case in point, exactly,” cried Jeannie Mac- 


DOCTOR WILL. 


193 


donald exultingly : if she grows up in your way, 
don’t you see, she will have learned always to 
think of her own present pleasure, and be con- 
stantly saying of herself as you say now, * Oh, don’t 
mind ; let her have it.’ But if she is taught now 
that all things are not best for her, even if they 
seem attractive and desirable, she will have learned, 
when she gets to life’s deeper problems, how to 
say ^ No’ to herself, and to wait patiently until the 
fruit she loves rounds and ripens in the pure sun- 
light.” 

“ She, meanwhile, standing under the shadow 
of the garden wall, with hidden face and downcast 
eyes, never even deigning to help the ripening 
with a smile or a warm breath. Pshaw !” 

“ ‘ She, meanwhile,’ ” began Jeannie in reply, 
but she had to wait until the burst of merry laugh- 
ter was over — “she, meanwhile, at the far end of 
the garden, away from the sunny spot, working day 
by day among the delicate vines, training and tend- 
ing, to keep her hands busy, and her heart full of 
thoughts and plans.” 

“Come, now,” said the more practical Kate 
Everett, “ you are both getting too poetical. Let ’s 
talk plain prose. What ’s the matter, Maud } Do 
you fear that the elegant Apollo will pine away 


194 


DOCTOR WILL. 


“ Kate never did appreciate Stanley Worthing- 
ton ; and I believe she would be half glad if he 
never found his lost star.” 

His lost star ought to be in the visible heav- 
ens, shining to show him the way, I think.” 

“ Well, I think that a man, fairly out of boy- 
hood, ought to be strong enough and sensible 
enough to go straight, without a girl to guide him.” 

“Oh hush! don’t you know that is just the 
work given us to do ^ to you and me and every 
other woman ? But — O dear ! I can’t solve t/iis 
problem ; it is beyond me. Dear Jean, please to 
set us right. Your clear reasoning powers can 
straighten it out.” 

“ She looks like an oracle. See her !” 

Jeannie had given herself up to the baby, who 
was tugging at her hair with its little hands, and 
had pulled it down, until it fell over her shoulders. 

She looked out from its masses with her clear, 
earnest eyes, and smiled at the chatter of the girls. 
Yet she knew, too, how much of reality there was 
in their thoughts of life’s problems. And this one, 
of Agnes Elder’s chosen way, had puzzled more 
hearts than one. Even Jeannie wondered over it 
herself at times. Surely, she could not mistake 
regarding a true woman’s duty. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


^95 


So, at least, thought this array of female ques- 
tioners who sat at that moment awaiting her reply. 
Even pretty, pouting Maud looked interested ; and 
as for this “ bonny lady” who was to make answer to 
their questions, did she not know that some strange, 
new chord had been struck upon Maud’s harp of 
life,” though not one of the others guessed it at 
all.? 

Looking directly across into Maud’s bright face, 
pretty even with its frown, this young woman 
sighed while she smiled, and weighed her words 
carefully. 

“Well, girls, it is a little puzzling, I know ; but 
I always begin the settlement of such questions 
with this strong fact : each woman knows her own 
heart best. We can stand outside and talk of gen- 
eralities, and lay down broad rules, and judge of 
what seems to us right ; but only a woman can 
fully know her own best rule of action. Now, d^ar 
Maud, I agree with you as regards a woman’s right 
to stand by one who needs her help, and to guide 
and inspire and direct him in the way of all good 
and noble things. This, I think, is woman’s special 
work. And a beautiful work it is, too. But then 
again, there is this : if a man’s care for a woman is 
not strong enough to shut out every thought and 


196 


DOCTOR WILL. 


desire of what is wrong and false, should she trust 
her life-happiness to such a man ? And I take it 
that our friend Agnes cares so much for Stanley 
Worthington, that she dares not put herself, with 
her warm heart, in the way of his need, lest her 
whole life be wrecked. The greatest thing she can 
do for him, is to set her plane so high, that he 
must climb steadfastly to reach it. And when his 
footing is sure and steady, there will be safe happi- 
ness for both. At least, I think so. And that is 
Stanley’s hope, too.” 

Some of the girls inclined to doubt the affection 
shown by such a course of action. “ Pretty kind 
of love that is !” exclaimed Maud, with her bright 
flush deepening. “ I call it cold calculation.” 

“ Oh no, Maud.” And Mrs. Maggie, with the 
older ones, agreed with Jeannie ; rather, with Agnes 
Elder; for, as Jeannie repeated eagerly, she did 
not speak for herself, nor lay down any general 
principles. She knew that ‘^only each woman’s 
heart must be her own guide.” “ I cannot promise 
you what / should do in such a case,” she added, 
laughing, and watching Maud through the waves 
of hair which fell over her eyes. 

“Indeed we know very well what you would 
do : step straight down into the deepest mire, and 


DOCTOR WILL. 


^97 

reach your white hands to the most wretched man 
there ; ay, and pull hinj out, too.” 

There were tears in the eyes of the girl who 
said it, though she laughed gayly. 

“Perhaps so; if he were some other person’s 
man,” answered Jeannie. “And then you know, 
girls,” she added, her voice growing low and ear- 
nest, “there is one thing we can all do, for our- 
selves and for those whom we would help : we can 
all go to Him whose strength is made perfect in 
our weakness. In his hands our dearest cause is 
safe.” 

And the white hands which surely had been 
reached out to help men, and were unstained still, 
took Maud’s little ones fondly, as they walked 
home together in the soft spring twilight. 

“ Maud, we must not perplex ourselves over 
generalities. Let each woman’s heart decide for 
her. And you and I will not be judges, but help- 
ers.” 

“ Little Maud has had a struggle, I know,” said 
Jeannie to herself afterwards. “She did not know 
quite what she wanted ; but now I think it is com- 
ing to her.” 


198 


DOCTOR WILL. 


XXIX. 

• It was “all the bonny lady’s doings.” So they 
said afterwards. But not one of them guessed it at 
the time. No one thought that she had any plans, 
though Jeannie had always been a famous planner. 

Old Dr. Chester was her only confidant ; and 
he just shut his keen eyes and smiled as he listened. 

“ Are you going up to see your boy T she asked 
innocently. 

And the old man, taking it all in at a word, an- 
swered with quite as much simplicity, “ Well, yes, 
Jeannie, I believe I am.” 

Stanley had declared his intention of going up 
to his old home for “ a look around ” when the next 
spring had brought the early wild-flowers and the 
soft breezes. “ Of course I shall not stay, unless,” 
he added, laughing, “I can secure a houseful of 
summer boarders. But that is not likely, you are 
such a set of busy bees. Perhaps I ’ll join you when 
I come down.” 

“ If that 's to be the result, 

“ ‘ Go on, go on, go on, go on, 

Go on, go on, go on,’ 


DOCTOR WILL, 


199 


etc., according to the missionary verse which used 
to puzzle me so in my First Reader,” said Doctor 
Will. 

'‘Yes, yes; go, my boy,” said the old doctor, 
“ and get a breath of the strong mountain air and a 
look at the old place. But come back to me, mind 
you, or I will be up there after you, old as I am.” 

Stanley did not know exactly why he wanted to 
go. It was a part of the restless nature which had 
not yet become satisfied. And it was partly a wish 
to look over his father’s large library of books, most 
of which had been left there when they went to the 
city. At least the old home was there, and was his, 
and he would go to see it. 

When he had been gone a week, Jeannie Mac- 
donald planned her queer little romantic plan ; and 
being planned, she proceeded to carry it out with- 
out delay. 

“ Now,” she said to Agnes Elder, going in one 
day as the little schoolmistress leaned against the 
window-frame, with a tired look in her eyes, “you 
must take two or three days and come with mother 
and me up to the hills to get rest and breath. Ah, 
do n’t I see in your face how you long for it } Come 
right away without an excuse, then. And — oh, you 
needn’t say a word about Mrs. Palmer; she and I 


200 


DOCTOR WILD 


have talked it all over and settled it. And we are 
going up to ‘ my mountain home/ you and mother 
and 1. And I shall coax Dr. Chester to take us. 
I know he will. He likes to get away in the spring- 
time. So be ready by Friday noon. There will be 
two whole days — Saturday and Sunday, and may 
be more ; for you ought to give a spring holiday.” 

Jeannie’s own rapture brought the bright color 
to Agnes’ cheek, and her eyes shone with longing. 
How often, in that long, dreary winter, had she 
pined for the fresh, strong mountain air and the 
stillness of her old home. She was almost sick for 
it. And so, when this friend of hers said, ‘‘You 
must come,” settling it all for her in that easy way 
she had, Agnes yielded. Then it was that this 
bonny lady went to the old doctor with her inno- 
cent question, “ Are you going up to see your boy ?” 
Then it was, too, that the keen-eyed old man un- 
derstood her little plan at a glance, but answered 
her so quietly, “Well, yes, Jeannie, I believe I 
am.” 

“And would you mind taking three forlorn fe- 
males under your care, sir ? Mother and I have 
persuaded Agnes Elder away for a few days’ rest ; 
and would n’t it be nice for her to have a look at 
the old home and a sight of the hills ? I thought 


DOCTOR WILL. 


201 


you might be going, and I knew how kind you al- 
ways are to needy and desolate women.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes,” answered Dr. Chester, laughing 
softly, and wondering if Jeannie wanted him to be 
purposely innocent. “Yes; let me see. I warned 
Stanley that I should be up after him if he stayed. 
Bless me ! how I have grown tp fancy that boy. 
Ridiculous, at my age, too. But if I can straighten 
him out any — Jeannie, what do you think?” 

“ I think, sir, that you have gained a new light 
for all your later life by reaching out your hands to 
save this young man ; and I think that you have 
done it well. We begin to feel sure of him.” 

“ Oh, ho !” The old man rubbed his glasses, 
and coughed and tried to laugh. “ Oh, ho ! that ’s 
very pretty ! And you have n’t done anything, I 
suppose.” 

“ We have only watched you with admiring eyes, 
and stood ready with our little bits of help here and 
there. And now, sir, will you take us — or, rather, 
let us go with you as far as the mountain ?” 

“ Why, I shall feel greatly honored. And your 
mother, too, Jeannie ?” 

“Yes, sir. Isn’t it nice? The trip will do her 
good. She is such a hot-house plant all winter, 
you know.” 


26 


202 


DOCTOR WILL. 


No wonder that the old doctor smiled and seem- 
ed surprised. It was strange. But the most beau- 
tiful work of all the beautiful works of Jeannie’s yet 
young life was this one — of having drawn her dig- 
nified and elegant mother closer and closer into her 
own warm-hearted ways ; of having enlisted her into 
her plans as helper and companion. Jeannie accom- 
plished this, as she grew up, by never wilfully op- 
posing or disregarding her mother’s opinions, by 
making her own plans and desires yield whenever 
her mother particularly disliked them, and chiefly 
by her own loving way of showing the beauty and 
desirableness of her purposes. 

“ She draws like a magnet ; one has to go,” Mrs. 
Macdonald sometimes said. 

All unconscious of the pretty snare laid for her, 
Agnes Elder drew larger breaths at each mile of the 
journey, and a tinge of the old color grew in her 
cheeks. But she was very quiet. Indeed, Jeannie 
and the old doctor did most of the talking. There 
was a real, childlike joy in each of their hearts 
which comes only from the sense of having done 
or of trying to do some good to some one. And 
there was an eager looking forward in each heart, 
too, and a wondering what the next few days would 
bring. Scarcely less eager than Jeannie’s was the 


DOCTOR WILL. 


203 


heart of the old doctor, thinking of his “ boy,” and 
of what the future might hold in store for that boy. 
It is the true, unselfish life which keeps the heart 
young, the life which looks out from its own little 
desires and pleasures to the needs of some other life. 

Higher and higher rose the spirits of the little 
party as they neared the grand old mountains, and 
the air came cooler and stronger, like a real life- 
tonic, as Doctor Will would have said. 

When they stepped out at the quiet little station, 
set like a nest among the hills, Jeannie’s rapture 
fairly overleaped all bounds, and she drew Agnes to 
the edge of the low platform, singing softly as she 
pointed to the upward glory, 

“ Blue skies aboon my bonny Ian’, 

Gran’ fludes that seek the sea, 

Proud heights that roun’ as bulwarks stan’, 
Blythe-bid my hame frae me !” 


204 


DOCTOR WILD 


XXX. 

Yes, it was “all the bonny lady’s doings.” That 
was what every one, old and young, said. There 
was a sort of invisible, electric current passing about 
among these friends, so that somehow, where one or 
two of them met, soon the whole party were gath- 
ered. Doctor Will’s little room, back of the “ of- 
fice,” was a favorite meeting-place for them. 

“ I declare, boys,” he would sometimes say, “ you 
will ruin my reputation. How can I maintain my 
proper dignity, with you tramping in and out here 
like a lot of schoolboys.” 

But they paid no heed to his smiling remon- 
strance. Only, on this rare occasion, when the old 
doctor was absent, they were very careful not to 
interfere with Doctor Will’s duties, and also to be 
more quiet and dignified in their going in and out. 

“All the bonny Jean, from beginning to end. 
And to think of her entrapping Dr. Chester so.” 

“ Nonsense ! Do n’t you suppose that Dr. Ches- 
ter knew what he was about } Why, he has had 
many a quiet laugh to himself over it, I ’ll warrant. 
And, indeed, I rather guess that he and bonny Jean 


DOCTOR WILL. 


205 


had a tacit agreement to say nothing, and to ‘ make 
believe’ that each did n’t know what the other knew. 
Let me see Dr. Chester shut his eyes behind his 
glasses, as he did a dozen times the day they start- 
ed, with that queer little smile of his, and I know 
that he knows something.” 

“ But how nicely she works with them all. Put 
your thoughts back a few years, and imagine the 
royal Mrs. Macdonald moving out of her ease and 
elegance, to go with Jeannie upon such an errand.” 

“What!” cried an astonished boy (for they 
were all boys at these informal gatherings), starting 
up from one of Doctor Will’s handsome sofa pil- 
lows, “ you do n’t mean that Mrs. Macdonald has 
gone too.” 

“ Do n’t be alarmed, Charley, certainly she has. 
And if I had n’t long ago vowed eternal allegiance 
to the bonny lady herself, I ’d say that Mrs. Mac- 
donald was chief of the party, as she stood among 
them at the d^pot with her dignified manner and 
her beautiful face mellow with the autumn of a fair 
womanhood. 

Loud applause followed this pretty little speech, 
for the mother of the “ bonny lady,” who had been 
so much to each and all of them, was held in high 
esteem. 


2o6 


DOCTOR WILL, 


“ But tell us, Will, have you heard how things 
are going on up there ? Of course you get a tele- 
gram every day.” 

“ Not quite. Dr. Chester writes that he thinks 
Stanley is better for the visit, and the old associa- 
tions ; and that he will come back with him.” 

“But about Miss Elder, you round-about old 
fellow. Have n’t they met and are n’t things ‘ made 
up,’ as the schoolgirls say } And is n’t the bonny 
lady clapping her hands at the result of her sche- 
ming • 

Doctor Will smiled his old, quiet smile, that 
they knew so well. Is there anything in all human- 
ity that so marks a man as his smile } It is the 
light of a soul, shining out to tell how clear or foul 
burns the fire within. 

“ Do n’t be so impatient, Ray. Keep cool. I 
want to bring you up to the height by degrees.” 

“ Ah ha ! then there is something more 1 Si- 
lence, fellows ! Where ’s the professor 

“Present,” called Arthur Sands, from his end of 
the table, in the old college-day voice. 

The young doctor had been glancing over his 
notebook, as he walked slowly up and down. He 
put his hands behind him, and his fingers closed 
tightly over the little book. 


DOCTOR WILL. 


207 


“Well, I do n’t know that I ought to reveal all 
that the bonny lady was good enough to write me. 
But I know that it is n’t just idle curiosity. You ’ll 
all be as glad as I am ” (he made a slight, almost 
imperceptible pause. Would they not be much 
more glad, O brave Doctor Will ?) “ to hear that 
young Worthington has regained some of his lost 
ground. Jean says that Miss Elder met him one 
day, as they were both, all innocently, strolling over 
the hills ; and he secured her promise that she 
would not at least run away from him again. Is it 
not good news ?” 

That it was really they proved by their quick 
way of receiving it. Somehow they all looked at 
Arthur Sands, as if waiting for him to have the 
first word. His face flushed with a clear, glad 
light, such as they had not seen upon it for many a 
day. “You may be sure of Stanley now,” he said. 
“I am very glad he has found her.” There was 
a quiet dignity in his way of speaking, and a half- 
sad look in his eyes, which touched the friendly 
hearts. “Worthington was a wild boy, but he 
never lost his veneration for that little friend. And 
I 'm sure he will come out right, now.” 

“Yes; we shall have him looking scorn upon 
the rest of us bachelors soon, I suppose.” 


2o8 


DOCTOR WILL, 


Splendid !” cried Lawrence Everett, rubbing 
his hands. “And was n’t it neat of the bonny lady ? 
Who ever imagined, when she went off so quietly, 
what spirit of romance was burning within her 
“I wish she would concoct a little romance 
all on her own account.’* 

“ Oh, the bonny lady will never do that. She 
is too busy helping other people to think of her- 
self.” 

“ Her whole life is a romance — sweet and ten- 
der and beautiful, and so deep that no pen can 
write of it.” That was Doctor Will. 

He had not touched the bright star he longed 
to reach. But he could walk, in the shadow if need 
be, with the ringing footsteps of a warrior who goes 
to conquest. Brave Doctor Will ! 





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